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~~ SMITHSONIAN
SCIENTIFIC SERIES

Editor-in-chief
CHARLES GREELEY ABBOT, D.Sc.

Secretary of the
Smithsonian Institution

Published by

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION SERIES, Inc.
NEW YORK.

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WILD ANIMALS
IN AND OUT OF THE ZOO

By
Wituiam M. Mann

Director, National Zoological Park

VOLUME SIX

OF THE

SMITHSONIAN SCIENTIFIC SERIES
1930

ITHS¢
SM ON, ny

Mi RARIES

[Printed in the United States of America]
All rights reserved

Copyright Under the Articles of the Copyright Convention
of the Pan-American Republics and the
United States, August 11, I910

EDITOR’S FOREWORD TO THE
LATER VOLUMES

THOUGH active in the earlier stages of the planning and
preparation of the SmITHsonIAN ScIENTIFIC SERIES, the
Editor-in-Chief has come to rely more and more on the
associate editors, Mr. John R. Ellingston and Miss Rose A.
Palmer. Indeed after Volume IV the editorial work has
been practically wholly in their hands. To Mr. Ellingston
has fallen the initiation of plans for the volumes, the con-
ferences with authors, the correspondence relating to illus-
‘trations and other important details, as well as the im-
provements in exposition and style which his reading of
the text suggested. Miss Palmer has not only attended
to the exacting minutiae of scientific editing, but because
of her wide knowledge of scientific subjects and her special
literary gift has been invaluable in perfecting the text of
all the volumes of the Series. The Editor-in-Chief ofters
Mr. Ellingston and Miss Palmer his sincere thanks and
congratulations, for the earlier standard of excellence has,
he thinks, been more than maintained in their care.

PREFACE

Turis book is about the Zoo—but it is not all about it.
The Zoo is a complicated organization, full of personali-
ties and histories, and scarcely an animal or bird is there
that has not its own story. I have tried to tell some of
these stories and to show in a small way Zoo things that
are not ordinarily seen by visitors.

The writer is under obligation to Mr. Thomas Henry
who has dug out historical facts and otherwise added to
the manuscript. Our Mr. Blackburne has written down
some of the tales so well known to his friends, and these
are included. Mr. Baker has contributed several ac-
counts drawn from his experience of many years with the
Zoo. Mr. Gerrit S. Miller, Jr., Dr. Charles W. Richmond,
and Miss Doris Cochran have given freely of their time
and expert knowledge to insure the correctness of the
scientific nomenclature throughout the book. Mr. John
R. Ellingston has read and edited the manuscript and
given helpful advice in its preparation. Miss Gladys
Visel has typed it, often from fearful copy, and finally,
Lucile Quarry Mann haé gone over the records of the Zoo
and made an annotated list of the residents there during
the first forty years of the Park’s history.

Many of the illustrations are from snapshots made by
the author but the file of photographs in the office has
been largely drawn on. Benson Moore has contributed
colored sketches of a half dozen rare species as well as
the several charming pen-and-ink drawings, and Stephen
Haweis has given us the frontispiece.

To all of these the author is deeply grateful.

CONTENTS

Tue NaTIoNAL ZooLocIcaL Park
In THE FIELD Arrer WILD ANIMALS
Tue MANLIKE APES

THe Monkey TRIBE

Tue Bic Cats :

FIFTEEN KINDS OF Beis.

Tue WiLp Docs

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND Pooe.
ELepHants Goop AND Bap

Tue Water Horse ‘

O_p anp New Wor.p Oorere
Some Pics

WILD CaTTLE :

Tue Tree Browsers .

ANTLERS AND Horns

Some Ruinos THE Park Has ‘Nor ane

Tue Horse Famity

Tue Poucu BEARERS
OTHER MammMaLs

WINGS

THe Co.p- Broeuee Tee
Tue Mess

Appenpix I: Animas SHowN SINCE 1890
ApPpENDIXx II: ANIMALS Born IN CaPTIVITY

INDEX .

153
158
163
176
183
202
211
217
pan
230
261
27)
284
347
S05)

Died A

SIAR PE px

ILLUSTRATIONS

LIST OF PLATES

Our back yard at Dodoma

European white swans on Rock Creek
The wolf pens in winter
Sulphur-crested cockatoo .

The new bird house

Lions from the Smithsonian-Roosevelt expedition :

Cock of the rock, from South America
Blesbok and Coke’ s hartebeest

Congo harnessed antelope and East African nyala .

Baby reed buck just after capture

On the Smithsonian-Chrysler expedition
The Smithsonian-Chrysler expedition at sea
W. H. Blackburne and the baby Bae i
Soko, the chimpanzee . 4 4
Orang-utan from Sumatra
White-handed gibbon .

The Chacma baboon

De Brazza’s guenon

Sarah, young olive baboon from East Africa
Ring-tailed lemur

Garnett’s galago from Zanzibar

Potto from Liberia .

Hamadryas or Arabian baboon

The Siberian or long-haired tiger

East African leopard :

East African leopard and kittens
African cheetah A

Brown or maned hyena

Pair of Mexican pumas

Alaska and European brown bears
Marian, the Polar bear

Marian casts a reflection

Buster, the Alaska Peninsula bear

Frontispiece

Alaska Peninsula bear, Billy .
The bush dog, from Brazil

Plains wolf from North Dakota .
Eskimo dog puppies

Beaver work in the Park .

The rare Stellar’s sea Hon .

Fur seals from Pribilof Islands
Dunk, the Zoo’s first elephant

Jumbina, a female elephant from the White Nile .

Jumbo, the six-and-a-half-ton African elephant
Kechil, from Sumatra . Te AA AGAIN
Mom, the East African hippo

Arabian dromedary with young born in the Park .

Bottle-feeding the baby Bactrian camel
Llama and young . :
East African wart hog and aby.
American bison. . .

African buffalo bull

Bull yak or grunting ox

The giraffe arrives at port by rail
Inyala from Rhodesia . ate
European red deer .

Kashmir deer and axis deer

American pronghorn antelope and Philippine deer

Female Indian antelopes or black bucks
White-bearded gnu

Aoudad, or Barbary sheep 3
Rocky Mountain sheep or bighorns :
Rocky Mountain goats :
Arizona mountain sheep

The Gemsbok

East African water buck

Baby African black rhinoceros

Grevy’s zebra

Grevy zebra mare and ass hybrids
Thylacine wolf and pups from Tasmania

Tasmanian devil and yellow-footed rock wallaby

Great red kangaroo from Australia
Elephant shrews from East Africa
Wolverine from Cordova, Alaska
Malay or saddle-back tapir :
Giant anteater from South America .
Armadillo from South America
South American two-toed sloth

_
DSL at Ce ae

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abe

Female rhea and Sclater’s cassowary
Inside the great flight cage in summer
American white pelicans on parade .
Snapshots in the flight cage . .

Abu Markub, a shoebill from the Sadan.
European flamingos

Wild fowl in winter

California condors, largest flying bird of reenca

Harpy eagle

Australian silver gull with newly-hatched young
Marabou stork, or adjutant, a native of India .

European iit stork on its nest

King vultures from South America

The tegu, a lizard from South America .
African chameleon and soft-shelled tortoise
Land iguana :

American elesnalee i ;

Giant Albemarle Island tortoise .

Tortoises from the Galapagos Islands

West African broad-nosed crocodile babies .

Mountain chickens of the Island of Dominica .

Condor from the Andes :
Angora goats which died from eating laurel
Two bottle-fed babies .

LIST OF SKETCHES

Sketches of the baby gorilla
Sketches of the baby gorilla

Soko on a rampage, beating his bars
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Sketches from an artist’s note book .
Bull moose calling . : :
Sketches from an artist’s note Spgoke ;

232
233
236
Par,
238
239

Fri tags

WILD ANIMALS
IN AND OUT OF THE ZOO

WILD ANIMALS
IN*\AND: OUT OF THE ZOO

CHAPTER
THE NATIONAL ZOOLOGICAL PARK

Tue urge to keep wild animals in captivity seems inherent
in man. As far back as we know his history he has
pursued his fellow creatures, trapped them and made
them his playthings, his servants, and sometimes even
his gods, and today we find the practice common to many
primitive peoples. While collecting on the Rio Beni in
Bolivia we found scarcely an Indian village along the
whole river which did not have some pet birds or animals,
usually parrots or monkeys, but also penelopes, curassows,
and trumpeters, living with the native chickens. At
night the chickens retire to a closely built, wild-cat-proof
hut and the domesticated wild birds follow them. On
the other side of the world the Malays are equally fond
of keeping pet animals, and in the Solomon Islands the
village cockatoo is one of the common sights.

There is no doubt as to man’s universal passion for
keeping wild animals in captivity, but why he has this
passion is another matter. Perhaps, as in the case of the
South American savage, it springs from an admiration
for bright colors. Perhaps, again as in South America,
when the Indian hunter kills for food a mother animal
carrying her young, he brings the young home for the
baby to play with, and it grows up in the village.

Large collections of wild animals constitute, of course,

[1]

WILD ANIMALS

a luxury possible only to civilized peoples, and it 1s
worthy of comment that wherever nations have attained
some stability and economic security, as in ancient
Egypt, China, and Rome, they have gathered together
rare wild animals. Some fifty years ago zoos began to
spring up extensively in the larger American cities.

The National Zoological Park had its origin in a little
group of animals brought to Washington and kept in
small cages at the rear of the Smithsonian Institution.
At that time the Institution was forming a collection of
mounted animals representing the fauna of North America
and these living specimens were brought to serve as
models for the taxidermists. Afterward they were either
killed and preserved as part of the mammal collection,
or if not needed in that capacity, were forwarded to the
zoo at Philadelphia, an institution that had been estab-
lished in 1872 by public-spirited citizens interested in
natural history.

However, the Washington public became increasingly
interested in the Smithsonian collection, a fact which led
Secretary Langley of the Institution to found a separate
department of the National Museum, that of living
animals. William T. Hornaday, father of modern tax-
idermy and well known for his travels and collecting
experience in the Far East and elsewhere, was appointed
curator, and as a result of his energy the collection had
increased to 225 living specimens by the close of the year
1888.

By that time a few interested and intelligent people
were commencing to realize that the destruction of game
actually destroyed it, and observers noted that where
herds of almost countless numbers of game had roamed,
there were now only small and widely scattered groups.
So to those interested in wild life, it became evident that
unless something was done, important native game
animals would follow the great auk and the sea cow to
extinction.

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The wolf pens

THE NATIONAL ZOOLOGICAL PARK

To further legislation for the protection of such animals
as remained, public interest was necessary, and Secretary
Langley saw that the Smithsonian Institution might do
something in this respect. A zoological park would not
only be the means of exhibiting animals to people who
wanted to see them, but would also increase their interest
in them, and the zoo itself might even be of value in
breeding and perpetuating some of the nearly gone
species.

Mr. Hornaday, under the direction of the Secretary,
made a survey of an area of 176 acres in the picturesque
valley of Rock Creek, a small tributary of the Potomac—
an area of rough land deeply eroded by the periodic
floods of the creek, so that there was no less than 200 feet
difference in elevation in the tract selected for the park.
The real-estate boom had not yet extended to this part of
Washington, and the price of the land was not exorbitant.
On April 23, 1888, Senator Beck of Kentucky introduced
a bill providing for a commission composed of the Secre-
tary of the Interior, the President of the Board of Com-
missioners of the District of Columbia, and the Secretary
of the Smithsonian Institution, which was to have the
power to select and obtain land, lay it out as a National
Zoological Park, and finally to turn it over to the Regents
of the Smithsonian Institution. Senator Morrill gave
this bill his earnest support, but it was attached as an
amendment to the sundry civil appropriation bill and
failed of passage.

At the next session of Congress, Senator Edmunds
introduced a similar measure as an amendment to the
District of Columbia appropriation bill, and with this
was included an appropriation of $200,000 for the purchase
of land for the desired site. This became a law on March
2, 1889. On April 30, 1890, Congress passed an act
which definitely placed the National Zoological Park
under the direction of the Regents of the Smithsonian
Institution, and authorized them to transfer to it any

[3]

WILD ANIMALS

living animals in their charge, to exchange specimens, and
to administer the Park “‘for the advancement of science
and the instruction and recreation of the people.”

A little less than $100,000 was appropriated for roads,
walks, bridges, water supply, sewerage, fencing, and
buildings, and the National Zoological Park became a
physical fact. An experienced landscape architect, Mr.
Frederick Law Olmsted, took a deep interest in the Park
and gave his advice as to its planning. With the funds at
hand it was necessary to limit activities to a small section,
namely, in the center of the Park, where previous clearings
had already been made, and where there were open fields
and grazing land, and areas easily developed into building
sites.

Shortly before this Mr. William H. Blackburne, who had
spent the preceding twelve years with the Barnum and
Bailey Circus, had decided to settle down and had become
head keeper of the Park’s animals. At this time the
Adam Forepaugh Shows presented two elephants to the
Government. They marched out from the circus grounds
in Washington under charge of Mr. Blackburne, followed
by all the small boys in Washington who were not at the
circus that day. One of the elephants bore a sheet with
the printed announcement that the Adam Forepaugh
Shows had presented them to the United States Govern-
ment. Mr. Blackburne, going ahead, warned the people
to look out for their horses. An elderly express driver
with an elderly horse, who had a station at Thomas
Circle, replied that his horse was too old to run away.
He was mistaken. Otherwise, the journey was uneventful.
The elephants were chained to a tree, and the Zoo was a
fact.

A cheap octagonal frame shed was built for the ele-
phants. Later on the shed was used as a small mammal
house, but is again, at the present time, being used
to house Kechil, the young elephant from Sumatra.
Mr. Blackburne borrowed a wagon from the Humane

[4]

THE NATIONAL ZOOLOGICAL PARK

Society and brought out all the animals which had been
kept at the Smithsonian.

Then a small circus touring West Virginia had two
cubs born from its pair of lions. The circus had no other
cage than the one in which the cubs made their ap-
pearance and needed this for the lion tamer to ride in
during the parade, so they gave away the cubs to a
blacksmith in the village. One of them died. The
blacksmith’s wife put the other in a basket with the
family cat, and it grew until the neighbors objected. It
was brought to the Zoo in a buckboard, the first lion here,
and a very fine one.

Then a tiger that had been with a circus for fourteen
years got mange so badly that he was not fit for exhibition,
so the circus presented him to the United States Govern-
ment, and he came to the Park. Mr. Blackburne gave
him treatments of sulphur and sweet oil and he lived for
seventeen years more, finally dying of old age after thirty
years of captivity.

The first bird was a sulphur-crested cockatoo which
had been given to the old Smithsonian collection by a
family in whose possession it had been for five years.
It came to the Zoo with the other Smithsonian animals,
and after thirty-eight years of waiting for a bird house,
was finally moved into a cage especially prepared for it in
the fine permanent building erected in 1927.

At first only one building was erected, in which were
placed all of the animals requiring artificial heat—
carnivorous, nocturnal animals housed with timid, diurnal,
herbivorous ones. In all there were 185 animals and
birds, large and small, transferred to permanent quarters
at the Park.

The first year the public took great interest in the new
establishment. Authorization had been made to purchase
a few specimens, and the Zoo commenced to grow. But
the next year there was elected to the House of Repre-
sentatives a new flock of members who knew nothing of

WILD ANIMALS

the Park, and the annual estimates were much reduced.
Furthermore, the authority to purchase animals was
withdrawn.

A tendency to abolish the Park gained headway. All
activities were very much restricted. It was possible to
secure specimens only by gifts or by collecting them in
Government reservations. The gifts ran chiefly to
opossums, racoons, and various small discarded pets;
collections were made in the Yellowstone National Park,
but this proved to be altogether too costly. In spite of
all the collection slowly increased.

Once a kangaroo was offered for sale by a dealer for
$75. The Zoo did not have $75, but a well-known Wash-
ington dealer in birds and animals bought it and traded
it to the Park in exchange for guinea pigs which the Zoo
was to raise at fifteen cents per guinea pig. After three
years enough had been raised to pay off the debt and the
kangaroo belonged to the nation.

One winter the Forepaugh Shows deposited their
whole menagerie with the understanding that the Zoo
should care for the animals and in return be allowed to
exhibit them, and also the Zoo was to keep any animals
that might be born during the winter. This arrangement
netted two kangaroos and a lion cub to the collection.
They greatly increased the popularity of the Institution,
and caused a great deal of talk in Congress in regard to
the United States Government running a circus.

In The Smithsonian Institution, 1846-1896, the History
of its First Half Century, published in 1897, Dr. Frank
Baker, at that time Director of the National Zoological
Park, gives a résumé of the origin of the Zoo and states
optimistically that ‘‘the future success of the Park
can not be doubted. Popular interest everywhere is
being awakened upon the subject of the preservation of
game and the care of animals in captivity. ... A feeling
of national pride should lead all public-spirited citizens
to take an active interest in the increase and suitable

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THE NATIONAL ZOOLOGICAL PARK

maintenance of the collection. At present it is not as
widely known as it should be. When United States
officials in all parts of the world become interested in its
advancement, it is believed that the scope of the enter-
prise will be vastly increased.”

Since then the Zoo has grown steadily, if slowly. At
first only temporary structures could be erected, and
these have proved entirely unsatisfactory from the
standpoint of administration, their repair being a con-
tinual drain on the slender resources of the Zoo; but a
small mammal house, now used to shelter the monkey
collection, was built out of maintenance funds during
a period of four years at a cost of about $44,000. This
has been a most satisfactory building. For instance,
there has not been a death from tuberculosis in this
collection during the past four years.

In 1926 and 1927 Congress appropriated $127,000 to
build an exhibition building for birds, and later an addi-
tional $30,000 for outside cages. This, now completed,
makes the finest exhibit in the Park and will be followed
by a reptile house to cost $220,000. It is hoped that these
two will be the first of a series of modern buildings needed
to house and exhibit the representative collection of
animals and birds that should be in the National Zoologi-
cal Park.

The popularity of the Park has so increased that
between 2,500,000 and 3,000,000 visitors come annually.
To the residents of the District it is the favorite recreation
ground, and visitors come from every State in the Union.
One year 114,000 school children came in organized
classes. Many naturalists and artists have studied here.

During the past year the Army, Navy, and Marine
Corps, the Department of Agriculture, the Bureau of
Fisheries, and other Government departments have
cooperated in increasing the collection, which at the
present time contains about 2,400 specimens.

[7]

CHAPTER II
IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

Zoos must continually add to their animal population.
There is in the first place a certain death rate to balance.
In the National Zoological Park it averages about four-
teen per cent a year, this, of course, including many
naturally short-lived species, though the death rate on
the whole is quite low. One method of replenishment is,
of course, by birth. Certain species breed well in captivity,
and surplus animals raised in this way are often ex-
changed with other zoos for specimens that are desired.
But the main source of new animals continues to be their
natural habitat, and there they must be pursued and
captured. The collecting of wild animals for sale to
zoos and circuses of the world has been developed by
several houses of international reputation into an enor-
mous commercial business, and through these dealers
is received a steady supply of animals.

Occasionally travelers for scientific expeditions aug-
ment this stream, and the National Zoological Park has
regularly benefited in this way, and on one noteworthy
occasion sent out an expedition for the sole purpose of
bringing back live wild animals. On other expeditions
the collectors have gathered what they could incidentally
and brought them in.

Colonel Roosevelt was responsible for some noteworthy
additions to the National Zoological Park collection
shortly after he retired from the Presidency. In the
spring of 1909 the Smithsonian Institution sent an
expedition to British East Africa under his direction to

[8]

IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

collect natural history material for the United States
National Museum. It was also to be on the lookout
for animals that could be secured for the Zoo. In July
a letter came from the expedition stating that Mr. W. N.
McMillan, later Sir Nowlen McMillan, a wealthy Ameri-
can who spent part of his time in East Africa, had on
his ranch near Nairobi a small collection of animals
which he offered as a gift provided the Park would send
for them. There were five lions, a leopard, a cheetah,
a wart hog, two gazelles, and a few smaller animals. The
Smithsonian accepted the offer by cablegram and dis-
patched Mr. A. B. Baker, Assistant Superintendent of
the National Zoological Park, to bring the animals to
America.

A South American expedition that brought into the
Zoo many unusual species was the Mulford Biological
Exploration of the Amazon Basin in 1921 and 1922, which
I accompanied as naturalist. Our party traveled from
Arica in Chile to La Paz, Bolivia, and then across and
down the eastern slope of the Andes to the junction of
the Meguilla and La Paz Rivers, where we camped for
three weeks, waiting for Indians down the river to make
and bring up rafts for our use.

In the beginning the director of the expedition opposed
a collection of live animals, knowing full well the dis-
turbance they generally create about camp. But he
was a kindly, elderly man, and when a baby paroquet
of delicate green hue and a confiding disposition perched
on his finger, his outlook toward live things changed,
and from then on we had carte blanche to collect anything
possible.

The first extended stop was made at Huachi, well
down the river, and among low hills. A mealy parrot,
obtained here, constituted our initial specimen of im-
portance. Members of a tribe of Indians who lived
somewhere in the forest—a twelve days’ walk for them,
possibly a month’s walk for anybody but an Indian—

[9]

WILD ANIMALS

were in the habit of coming into Huachi every year or
so for the purpose of exchanging flat bird skins for salt,
apparently their only need. They came while we were
there, and had with them this parrot. A handful of salt
bought it, and from then on it lived with us on a perch
fastened to a barrel hoop, with an empty beef tin at either
end for food and water.

The Mosetenas and the Cabinas, Indians with whom
we lived later on, were hunters, and depended entirely
on the chase for their meat. Monkeys are their favorite
game, the rich, almost oily meat appealing much to them.
When a big catch was secured they would half roast,
half smoke the carcasses over open fires to preserve them.
But like other South American Indians, they were fond
of bringing in babies of various animals for the children
to play with, and in the village were numbers of monkeys,
curassows, parrots, a paca or two, and other small fry.

At Huachi, in Bolivia, we secured a very young tapir
which we named Billy, and which lived with us in camp
for many months, traveling down river on a raft. He
was probably the hairy tapir, a mountain form seldom
seen in captivity. He was robust and voracious, and had
the camp in an uproar half the time. Above all things
he loved to chew boot laces, and was continually at ours
while we were busy, so that he earned many slaps and
thumps. Coming down the Beni on the launch, Billy on
deck with the rest of us, the whistle blew. The tapir,
which had never heard anything like this before, did the
best he could to put his short tail between his legs, and
dived overboard. We put out in a canoe, got him, and
brought him back. Thereafter, whenever the captain
felt that the whistle should be blown, he would notify
me and we would lock Billy up in a small room until the
noise was over.

The railroad journey from Guajara-Mirim to Porto
Velho around the source of the Madeira in Brazil takes
two days. Billy, with all the rest of our stock, was put

[10]

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IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

in an open cattle car. The engineer considered it his
duty to blow the engine whistle almost continuously,
and this, with the jiggling of a very bumpy train, reduced
the tapir to a state of continual panic. He ate nothing,
and when he finally got aboard the large launch which
was to take us down the Madeira to the Amazon, he
had become very weak. At the end of two or three days
he commenced to eat a very little, and I had hopes of
getting him safely to the steamer, but one morning when |
descended to the lower deck and inquired of Nick, our
erstwhile cook, now become a boiler of rice and peeler
of bananas for the animals, how the tapir was coming
on, he replied, ““He’ll be all right now. I just gave him
a pill.”

“What kind of pill?” I asked.

“T don’t know what kind, but I got it from that fellow
over there,” pointing to a sick Barbadian.

Nick, in a blind way, believed in any kind of medicine,
and had borrowed some sort of pill from this fellow and
popped it down the tapir. The next morning Billy was
dead.

This was the severest loss suffered on the expedition.
We got what little comfort we could out of an incident
which occurred at that time. A Brazilian passenger on
our boat had had presented to him a baby tapir the day
before he came aboard. The animal, recently taken
from its mother, was living on stored-up vitality, and
appeared to be very lively. Its owner kept telling me to
look at his tapir, and then at mine, and I would see that
I really did not know how to take care of tapirs, while
he did. But the day that little Billy was thrown over-
board, the specimen that he knew how to take care of
suffered the same fate, and the two of them floated to-
gether down the river.

Our longest stop was made at Rurrenabaque, right at
the base of the last ridge of the Andes. On the east side
of the river were twelve miles of forest, which terminated

[ary

WILD ANIMALS

suddenly as the pampas commenced, and with this
variety of habitats the country was rich in animal life.
When travelers are in such a community there is great
demand on their medical stores. No day passed without
our being visited by numerous people with ailments to
be cured. Some of these deserved attention but often
all the patient really wanted was a pill. Catering to
them took so much of our time that I was finally com-
pelled to make a charge for medical services. Minor
services, such as quinine pills for malaria and iodine for
cuts, were charged for at the rate of one paroquet, a
parrot, or a small monkey; major operations, such as
binding up a leg sore, had to be paid for with larger fry.
We did quite a thriving medical business, and soon our
collection filled the entire courtyard, with three young
rheas and the tapir loose among the others. One old
Indian kept coming and looking over the animals, and
going away again, until finally, after several daily visits,
he opened his mouth and pointed to a thoroughly rotted
tooth that must have been causing him great agony, and
asked me pathetically if there was any animal in the
woods that would pay me for pulling this.

Twelve miles below Rurrenabaque was a little launch
which makes monthly trips up and down the Rio Beni
between Rurrenabaque and Riberalta. Its captain,
Castro, a good soul, took an interest in our work and on
his journeys notified various rubber centrales that when
we came down we would buy all the live animals and
birds that they could collect, so when we finally left on
our way to the Amazon, each village contained something
or other for us to buy, and on our arrival at Riberalta
the launch was about loaded.

One of the rarer parrots on the river, which is also
one of the most brilliant of the South American birds,
is the flower-headed caique (Pionites xanthomeria). The
natives value it so highly as a house pet that we were
able to secure only three on the voyage. Once I saw a

[12]

PLATE 6

Benson B-. Moore

Cock of the rock, from South America. A resident at the
Zoo for eight years

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IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

tiny Indian girl with one of these on her shoulder. I
stopped to speak to her, and she, with loud shrieks,
fled into the house. Her father emerged in a moment and
apologized for the rudeness of his small daughter, and
explained, “‘Sefior, the reason why she was so frightened
was because she saw you looking at her pet parrot, and
was afraid that you were going to try and buy it.”

Under these conditions we still had only three when
we arrived at Riberalta. A Bolivian lady of this town
had four of them, and she told us that she would like to
sell them to get money for a new dress, but her husband
had refused to let her. On our last day she sent word
that if we would come quickly, while her husband was
away, she would sell them. Captain Castro and I dashed
over to the house, bought the parrots, and were carrying
them out in a little basket covered with a piece of cloth,
when the husband came around the corner. The last
thing we heard in Riberalta was these two amiable people
telling what they thought of each other in shrill-pitched
Spanish. But we now had seven specimens of the flower-
headed caique, all of which arrived home safely, and
four of which are still thriving. As these have been seen
by millions of people, we think we were justified in getting
them, even at the cost of a family row.

Often the things you do not succeed in bringing home
are the most interesting of all. Besides Billy the tapir,
there was a little bush dog. One day at Tumupasa,
Pearson and I were hunting close to each other along a
trail, when he shouted to me to come quickly, as he had
come upon some Indians carrying a wild dog. I ran over
to find two Indian men and a girl. The girl carried in a
little bag a baby wild dog, one of the rarest of all South
American animals. I immediately made the Indians
wealthy for life at the American price of a carton of
cigarettes, and the dog was mine. He was about ten
inches long exclusive of a short tail, and dark brown in
color, and very gentle. He lived in camp with us for a

[13]

WILD ANIMALS

week, and then, apparently unable to assimilate any
food we could give him, died. When I asked the Indian
if there was only one of the dogs, he told me that there
had been two in the litter, but that he had given the
other to his brother at Ixiamas, so we broke camp
the following morning and walked forty miles through the
finest forest I had ever seen. When we arrived at
the village we found that the other dog had died.

Then there was a monkey, a marmoset type, from the
upper Madre de Dios. A friend of Captain Castro had
brought it down. It had a black face with a white mark
on each side of its neck extending across the cheek, which
looked at a distance of a few feet for all the world like a
Lord Kitchener moustache. Coming around the falls of
the Madeira, on what is without doubt the bumpiest
railroad in the world, the catch on the hurriedly impro-
vised cage door was jarred loose, and the monkey got out.
From my description of him when back home, it appeared
that this was an unknown species, so we know that some-
where on the upper Madre de Dios lives a small and
charming monkey that has never come into any col-
lection.

After passing the falls of the Madeira~-Mamoré, and
getting aboard the river launch, our troubles with trans-
portation were over. These Amazon launches are com-
modious, big double-deckers, the upper deck for the
first-class passengers and the lower deck for the cargo
and the apparently dying third-class passengers. It is
strange that on the Beni, where everybody has malaria,
none seems to suffer very greatly from it, while the
type on the Madeira knocks one out. In hammocks on
our lower deck a dozen or more were down with it when
we came aboard. I gave some quinine to the first one
who asked for it, and was promptly met by an appeal
from everybody on the lower deck for “‘guinina, sefior.”
With our limited supply of the drug, it was necessary
to pick out those who were really in very bad condition

[14]

PLATE 7

padi

BS pia i

Upper: Blesbok, a South African antelope
Lower: Coke’s hartebeest, obtained from Mr. McMillan in East Africa
through Colonel Roosevelt

PLATE 8

“

roung

ever imported to America

go harnessed antelope and y
East African nyala, or inyala, thought to be the only specimen

Con

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U
Low

IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

and divide it among them. One of our passengers died
the day we were at Mandos.

The Tupi, our boat, was collecting Brazil nuts, so we
stopped at every little settlement down the river, and
sometimes ran up tributaries to other settlements. The
nuts were waiting for us in coarsely made baskets, usually
in the shade of a shack on the river’s bank. Sometimes
the supply was small and the stops were short, but always
it was great fun to dash into the village and ask the
nearest man, “Hay macacos?” (Are there any monkeys
in this village?) | Usually there was something—a
woolly or a capuchin monkey; a curassow; a trumpeter
living with the native chickens; a parrot or a paroquet
sitting on a perch made by shoving a stick into the walls
of the house. A hurried bargain and a dash back to the
boat, and our collection would be increased by something
interesting.

Years afterward I gave a series of radio talks from the
National Zoological Park. A yacht with a friend of
mine on board as guest came into the harbor at Wash-
ington. He had told the others about his friend at the
Zoo, and wondered if I were in town. When they came
to anchor in the evening, they tuned in on Washington,
and the first words they heard were mine, “Are there
any monkeys in this village?”

We reached Mandos early one morning, and found a
Booth tramp steamer ready to sail that evening at five.
We transferred our cargo at once, securing what we could
from the market there. This consisted chiefly of the giant
turtle of the Amazon (Podocnemis expansa), made classic
by Bates, but which, on account of specialized feeding
habits which limit its food exclusively to Amazonian water
weed, did not do well in captivity.

This voyage was not altogether without interest.
Members of our expedition were the only passengers
aboard the freighter. We had camped together for nearly
a year, and as each of us knew everything that the others

[15]

WILD ANIMALS

knew, we had no desire to talk much, and we found my
135 animals wonderful companions for the voyage. We
had, in addition to nineteen monkeys, fifty-odd parrots.
Some of the latter we kept loose on deck, and they roosted
at night on top of the cages and sometimes flew about the
ship. One tragedy occurred when one flew out to sea
and then caught up again with the boat, only to light on
a wet stanchion and fall off into the water, just by the
propeller, where she was engulfed at once by the waves.
On one occasion three blue-headed parrots got away at
the same time and flew quite far out. Unable to see any
land, they turned and regained the ship; all of them flew
into the safety of my arms, outstretched as perches, and
one of them is still living in the Zoo. But even such
good companions entail a lot of responsibility. One of the
pleasantest meetings that I have experienced was with the
agent of the National Zoological Park who was waiting
on the dock to take the animals off my hands, unload, and
ship them to Washington.

For a long time the National Zoological Park had hoped
to be able to make a real zoo expedition, that is, one with
the sole object of capturing live animals for the Park.
This matter had been brought to the attention of a
number of people. In fact I] had mentioned it to every
one who would listen, and one day we received a tele-
gram: “Chrysler approves African expedition. Go ahead.
Make definite plans.”” Our good genie was Mr. Walter
P. Chrysler.

So we took the next steamer to England. There were
four of us in the party: Arthur Loveridge, of the Museum
of Comparative Zoology of Harvard University, who had
spent eight years in Tanganyika, part of the time in the
army and the rest as game warden; Fred Carnochan, of
New York City, an old classmate of mine; and Stephen
Haweis, the artist and traveler, who had been in the
field in the West Indies with me years before. He was
to be allowed to paint pictures between cleaning bird

[ 16 |

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6 ALV Id

IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

cages. The Pathé Review sent Charles Charlton, a
camera man, who was to make a pictorial chronicle of
the trip and of the work of the expedition.

In London we had a few delightful and hectic days
shopping—mainly for tents, camp equipment, guns, and
tin chests, and then left Tilbury Dock on the thirty-five
day voyage to Dar-es-Salaam. At Zanzibar we trans-
ferred to a smaller steamer, which took us into the main-
land at Dar. Three days here served to unload our gear
and obtain the necessary permits for hunting. Mr.
Swinnerton, the chief game warden, secured a governor’s
license for us, an invaluable document, as it gave us,
within reason, carte blanche to collect any animals that we
could, and then the Colonial Secretary notified various
commissioners throughout the colony to help us in securing
necessary porters and guides, without whom nothing at all
can be done.

We went immediately to Dodoma, about 250 miles
inland on the railroad, leaving Dar-es-Salaam at night
‘and waking up in the morning on a high plain, where
we saw before breakfast two herds of giraffes. In all we
saw forty giraffes that day from the train, which put us
in high spirits. Standing near the train on the veldt as
they did, young ones among them, they looked to our
eyes ridiculously easy to catch.

At Dodoma we rented a large cement house with a big
courtyard (see Frontispiece), the property of a Hindu
who was living somewhere else, and then notified the
natives that we would buy any live things that they
would bring in. The natives hereabouts are the Wagogo,
an offshoot of the better known Masai, formerly a warlike
people who gave Stanley much trouble as he crossed their
territory. They are not especially good hunters, but
during our stay brought us in numerous small things,
chiefly birds, and among them mostly weaver birds.
The latter occur in tremendous quantities, so that it is
necessary to have a boy stationed in the middle of a

WILD ANIMALS

green field to scare them away. Sometimes he stands on
a platform, built for the purpose, at other times avails
himself of a high termite nest, and all day long throws
stones from a sling at the birds. The birds are trapped
in small grass baskets, and many of these were brought
in for our collection.

It took several days to organize the Dodoma camp,
which was to be our headquarters. Our milk supply
for possible young animals had to be arranged. Very
soon our arrival and the object of our trip were generally
known and each morning a long line of natives would
appear, some of them with the daily milk supply in
beer bottles, others with freshly cut grass, grain, and the
live things they had picked up the previous day.

Having had experience with expeditions before, and
wanting to remain friends with my companions, I divided
the party up into four, leaving Loveridge in charge at
Dodoma; sending Carnochan to Tabora, far to the west,
and Haweis down the railroad line to Mahonde, a mis-
sion; while I, with a white hunter, left for Umbugwe to
go to Lake Meru.

We were disappointed in many ways. Previous ex-
perience in South America and other countries had
taught me that natives are, after all, the best source of
supply for live animals. But the Tanganyika natives,
never great hunters, and restrained by game protective
laws, had little interest in the larger animals. They
brought in from time to time many young antelopes, but
the most important things we got from them were small
birds and mammals that they had snared.

At Meru, Runton, the white hunter, and I lived a
month, capturing a small group of gnu, an account of
which appears elsewhere in this book, and numerous
other specimens. From time to time we would ship
these back to Dodoma.

After this Runton and I moved over into the Ja-Aida
country, and had our futile venture for rhinoceroses.

[18]

PLATE 10

On the Smithsonian-Chrysler Expedition

Upper: Unloading take-down crates from the railroad
Lower: Animal crate ready to be set up as trap

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IN THE FIELD AFTER WILD ANIMALS

Then I journeyed back to the railway, and south into the
Kisaki region, where we secured our giraffes, impallas,
and wart hogs.

At the end of four months telegrams were sent to each
of the party, and we all gathered on the dock at Dar-es-
Salaam, each with the animals he had collected. Again
the Government came to our aid, and gave us a large
warehouse, open at two ends, where we put the collection.
By this time we had 203 crates of birds, animals, and
reptiles. We were flooded by visitors—Swahilis, Zanzibar
Arabs, Hindus, and Europeans—who came in such
crowds to see the animals that we had to appeal for
police protection. A guard of Askaris was sent down, and
for three days we maintained on the dock at Dar-es-
Salaam, East Africa, a branch of the United States
National Zoological Park—visiting hours from two to
five, and a police force to prevent visitors from annoying
the animals.

We were fortunate in having available an almost empty
steamer to take us to Ceylon. By going this way we had
eleven days of open sea, instead of long waits in the great
heat of East Coast harbors, and it proved much better
for the animals. Our specimens were placed in lighters,
and the firm that did the loading exercised unusual care
in handling them. Enormous trays, used normally for
handling ivory, carried the cages from the lighter to
the deck of the steamer. We got to sea as soon as loaded.
Loveridge had stayed behind. Haweis and Carnochan
were aboard, and we brought with us, also, two native
boys, James and Saidi, the best of our field men, to
help care for our animals.

The next morning the boat was rolling a little, and
when I came out to look over the crates, I] discovered
James and Saidi lying on the deck. One of my com-
panions was in bed with a wet towel around his head,
the other was holding his hands tightly clasped over his
stomach. To feed and care for the animals seemed a

[19 |

WILD ANIMALS

hopeless task, until good old Malloy, chief engineer,
rolled up his sleeves and went to work with me. One
of my companions recovered in time to help out, also,
and we managed that day at least to feed and water our
charges. Malloy did so well that we rewarded him by
giving him a line of fifty bird cages to care for during the
remainder of the voyage. We landed at Colombo,
Ceylon, at five one evening, and transferred to another
ship, the City of Calcutta, bound for Boston, and sailed
the following evening.

Our life aboard ship was more or less routine. We
divided the collection up into groups, one of our party
taking care of the hoofed animals and monkeys, another
the carnivorous animals, another the birds, and James
and Saidi assisted everybody. First thing in the morning
cages were cleaned. Then food was prepared and served.
It meant that we were on the go most of the day, and
James and Saidi slept at night among the cages, so as
to give the alarm if anything went wrong.

It took thirty days to cross from Calcutta to Boston,
where we arrived on a warm and rainy October day. Mr.
Blackburne of our Zoo was waiting on the dock with one
of the keepers, and the American agent for the firm of
Hagenbeck was there too. I had made arrangements
to have the animals unloaded. Long lines of stevedores
took the crates from the boat directly to large express
cats waiting on the dock. The hoofed animals and the
swine were taken to a military depot for a two weeks’
quarantine. The others left that afternoon and arrived
in Washington the following morning.

[ 20 ]

CHAPTER: Ill

THE MANLIKE APES

Tue leading citizens of any zoological community are
the anthropoid apes, the gorillas, chimpanzees, orang-
utans, and gibbons. While other creatures may attain
a greater popularity for a time, the visitors always return
with renewed interest to the cages of these great apes.
Since the topic of human evolution has become material
for curbstone debates, heated arguments take place in
front of the cages, and some of them would be most
amusing to the inmates if they could understand them.
“Tsn’t it human?” “Isn’t it disgusting?” are stereotyped
remarks often heard, and the last word in humor is to
compare the chimpanzee to some friend.

A gorilla is an event in the lifetime of a zoo. This
animal is, without doubt, the most spectacular that can
be secured, and because of its rarity, the difficulty of
transportation, and the great risk of illness and death,
the price is generally so high that few zoos can afford
to buy one. Since 1847, when Savage described the
gorilla, only a limited number have come into collections.
The first gorilla we know of in captivity was a young
female that formed part of a traveling menagerie in
England in 1855. She lived for several months. Four-
teen years later, another young specimen came to the
London Zoological Gardens, and lived for seven months.
The most notable case is that of the female which lived
for seven years in the home of the director of the zoo
at Breslau, Germany, from 1897 to 1904.

A young male came to Berlin in 1876. When first caught

[21]

WILD ANIMALS

he was coaxed to drink goat’s milk and eat fruits, but
he was so small and weak that he would fall asleep over
the bottle. For the first few days the infant spent most
of his time sleeping, like any other baby of his age. He
gained in strength slowly, and was allowed to run at
liberty about the camp. He made no attempt to escape,
but clung affectionately to the human companions who
had nursed him after the death of his mother. He would
play in the sand with the negro boys like one of them—
an interesting trait, for many apes display an inexplicable
dislike for the black race. (This is very noticeable in
our big chimpanzee, Soko, perhaps from memories of
his capture.) The little gorilla was very clean. He
would pick up food fastidiously with the thumb, fore and
middle fingers. If he touched a spider’s web, he would
try to brush it off at once or hold out his hand for some
one to perform this service for him. He liked to paddle
in water and then roll on the sand in the sun. He loved
to beat on hollow objects, anything that would make a
noise. Unusual noises, such as thunder, threw him into
terror. This gorilla was brought alive to Berlin where
he was also given the freedom of the keeper’s house.
He ate at a table and slept in a bed, generally covering
his head with a blanket. As a rule he was well behaved,
but would snatch at anything which attracted his atten-
tion. He died in a few months of galloping consumption.

One’s own gorilla is, of course, the most important of
all, and N’Gi at the National Zoological Park is to us
nothing less than royalty. N’Gi was captured on Jan-
uary 17, 1928, by Mr. J. L. Buck of Camden, New Jersey,
and West Africa. Mr. Buck commutes between his two
homes, and has made eight trips, during which time he
has captured three gorillas and succeeded in bringing
one, N’Gi, to the States. His own account of the capture
of N’Gi is as follows:

I have caught three gorillas, but have succeeded in
bringing only one, N’Gi, into the States. The gorilla is

[ 22]

THE MANLIKE APES

supposed to be a rare animal, but I believe that is because
he inhabits only the primitive, almost impenetrable
forests, which have a reputation that is at least partly
undeserved, for diseases. In some of these places the
gorilla is so plentiful that he must be exterminated
before cultivation can progress. In a forest extending
over a territory of 400 by 600 miles, I have seen at least
fifty gorillas.

In the group of which N’Gi was a member, there were
six individuals, four adult females, a male, and the baby.
We located them by the signs that they left through this
swamp, the destruction of certain species of vegetation.
I had with me twenty-three Batwa pygmies. When it
was evident that the gorillas had passed, the pygmies
spread out, fan-shape. Once the animals were located
the word passed from one to the other of the pygmies, and
the walk began. Had we attacked them at once, they
would have scattered and disappeared, or they would
have fought us. They travel fairly fast, twenty miles
being a good day. We managed to keep the same gait.
During the succeeding four days, the male would oc-
casionally try to bluff us off by raising himself to a stand-
ing position, and uttering threatening roars. If we had
attempted to run, he would have pursued us, and there
is no doubt that he would have eventually caught us.
Instead, when he tried his intimidating tactics, we sat
down and waited for him to go on. Many of his antics
were like those of a baboon. He would frequently non-
chalantly turn over a stone, pretending he was busy and
not noticing us.

During our walk we occasionally collected an antelope
for food, but cooked it far in the rear of where we camped.
Gorillas have no objection to a wood fire, but they do not
take kindly to tobacco.

Each day of the walk the gorillas became a little more
accustomed to us, but for ten days the female with the
baby was kept quite far in advance of the others. On

[ 23]

WILD ANIMALS

some occasions she was flogged by the male so that she
would go ahead. In about twelve days this enforced
speed was not insisted upon, and she was permitted to
stay with her companions. The half-breed who was in
charge of the pygmies proved his worth by not allowing
them to shoot prematurely. On the seventeenth day
they shot her with a poisoned arrow. We could have
collected other females in the meantime. At first she
seemed hardly conscious that she had been shot, but she
gradually became weaker, and in about an hour she fell.
I then pulled my shirt off and put it into N’Gi’s mouth
so that he could not bite us, or, more important, call the
troop to his defense. The men who stayed with me
prepared for a feast of roast gorilla, and after the mother
had been eaten by the pygmies we left with the baby.
N’Gi’s first meal in captivity was a piece of bread
softened with milk, which he ate very gingerly. Within
two days he cried for milk. I believe he was nursing, when
captured. In four days’ time he was quite at home,
and within ten days he was permitted to wander about
as he wished. On the homeward journey he was a constant
source of delight. The captain enjoyed playing with
him, and the cooks saved choice bits of food for him
to eat. At home we had a platform built for him so that
he would be raised above the level of the floor. A staple
was driven into the wall, to which he could be chained,
when necessary, to keep him out of mischief. On this
platform he would play with anything furnished for his
amusement. Among his favorite toys were pieces of
rope, upon which he could swing, and a double boiler
just large enough to fit his head, which he would put
on like a hat and then stand on his head. Occasionally
he would use the handle as a club and beat himself over
the head with it. Another favorite source of amusement
was a half-peck measure. He would stand on the edge
of this and clap his hands. He likewise played with

balloons, newspapers, and balls.

[ 24 ]

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Some reasons why N’Gi, the baby gorilla, is the most popular resident of the National Zoo
Sketches by Benson B. Moore

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THE MANLIKE APES

N’Gi had been in Mr. Buck’s hands for nearly a year
before he decided to take him to Cuba, there to sell him
to Madame Abreu, who has a notable anthropoid collec-
tion. He stopped off between trains in Washington to
give us an opportunity to see the gorilla, and we persuaded
Mr. Buck to bring N’Gi to the Park so that he could
have a few hours of exercise in a large cage. We put him
at first in the big cage occupied by Jiggs, the orang-utan,
and Bob and Bill, two white-handed gibbons, placing
him in the middle of the floor. Most animals would have
run directly to the bars and tried to get out. Instead
of doing this, N’Gi hurried back to the door and tried
to open it. He did not seem to like the looks of his cage
mates. He was suspicious of them, and they, in turn,
became very excited. Jiggs stared. He moved about
more than I have seen him move during the whole past
year, and the two gibbons fairly filled the air, hurtling
about. Jiggs was fascinated by the stranger, and N’Gi,
who had always, according to Mr. Buck, looked down
upon other monkeys, showed considerable interest in
him. When they had spent four hours in the cage to-
gether, Jiggs came to the ground, and N’Gi, after running
round and round him a dozen times, in an attempt to
come upon him from behind, suddenly burned all his
bridges and jumped on top of the orang-utan. Jiggs
met him with a fond and tortuous embrace and a shower
of kisses, and from then on the two were inseparable, so
much so that the following day (yes, we had bought the
gorilla in the meantime; no one could have resisted him)
N’Gi had to be taken out of the cage. The gorilla is not
an arboreal animal; the orang-utan is, and Jiggs is very
fond of the upper part of the cage. N’Gi insisted upon
following him around, and the gibbons, who had never
been particularly fond of Jiggs, suddenly took it upon
themselves to defend him from this new and presump-
tuous visitor. So, while the baby gorilla was laboriously
going hand over hand up a pole some fifteen feet in the

[25.1

WILD ANIMALS

air, above a hard floor, Bob would swing down, whack
him on the head, chuckle, and then glide, as only a gibbon
can, to the other end of the cage. N’Gi clutched at him,
lost his balance, and almost fell. The Zoo staff, watching,
swallowed hard, and N’Gi was taken out immediately
and put in another cage, and alone. He experienced
loneliness at once, and cried, angrily, as a three-year-old
child would. On the following morning he played, but
soberly, standing erect, or lying on his back and clapping
his hands, again in a childlike manner. The third day
he paid more attention to a soft ball placed in the cage,
and made a plaything of his drinking pan.

Since then better quarters have been arranged for
him; a ten-by-ten cage with two skylights of ultra-violet
glass, which give him a ten per cent proportion of ultra-
violet rays. Private sleeping quarters have been provided
in the form of a large box near the top. Gymnastic
apparatus—climbing perches, a swinging ring, a pair of
dumb-bells, and an eight-pound medicine ball—were
given to him at the beginning, and he has developed
interest in all of them. Two vertical posts were installed
in his cage, in which were driven hollow metal crossbars,
and the ends stopped with wooden plugs. His first activity
in his new home was to pull out one of these plugs with
his teeth and investigate the resultant hole with his
finger. This done he transferred his attention to the
end of each of three other perches and tried to pull the
plugs out from them also.

He first manifested interest in the medicine ball by
attempting to sit on it, but he rolled off. In a few weeks,
however, he learned to balance himself on it fairly well.
He uses it also as a drum, but since he has discovered
that he can push it around, he has spent hours in having
mimic battles with it. Within a week he had learned a
new trick, pulling it toward him and running backward,
laughing, and biting it when it struck him. Some time
later he learned to twirl it, and one of his favorite tricks

[ 26 ]

THE MANLIKE APES.

is to hang himself through the swinging ring and lift
the ball up with all four feet. It is a little too large for
him to hold, but he will lie on his back and juggle it,
Japanese style, using all four feet.

The dumb-bells he carries from place to place, and when
climbing will place one on his shoulder and hold it there
with his head pressed sideways. His old drinking pan
remains a favorite plaything. He will carry it balanced
on his head, or put it on the floor and stand on his head
in it. Naturally, psychologists were interested in him,
and for the first week, whenever I wanted to look at my
own gorilla it was necessary to elbow aside some dis-
tinguished scientist. N’Gi’s pat-a-caking with his hands
has been identified as the reaction of a six-month-old
baby, and his manner of waving his arms in answer to
similar waves from friends as the reaction of a child of
eighteen months.

At present he is thoroughly at home in his new quarters,
and will play by himself, but he increases his play energy
when there is an audience, and redoubles it when some-
body that he knows is outside. His diet, prescribed for
him by one of Washington’s prominent child doctors, is
equivalent to that of a three-year-old infant, and includes
orange juice, apples, eggs and milk, cod-liver oil, cooked
and raw vegetables, and an occasional rice custard.

At 4:30, when the house is closed, a blanket is given
him, which, after mopping up the floor with it and getting
it dirty enough to suit his taste, he carries upstairs into
his sleeping quarters and goes to bed, though not without
a baby’s whimper at being left alone. He sleeps on his
back, and does not wrap himself in the blanket, though
he is very fond of playing with a piece of white cloth and
draping it over himself. He has remained very friendly,
though at times he becomes boisterous. His feeding
habits are most genteel. There is no unseemly rush to
his food. He eats with evident enjoyment, and puts
aside what he doesn’t want. When course number one

[ 27]

WILD ANIMALS

does not please him, he will drop it, and then push it
away and reach for course number two. Sometimes, .
when that does not come up to his expectations, he will
return to number one, and after cleaning it sufficiently
with his hands, will finish what he had left.

It is doubtful if many live gorillas will be exhibited in
the future, as a serious attempt is being made to have
them protected throughout their range—a wise move,
indeed, and badly needed right now. No animal is more
interesting, and the very few thousand that still remain
in Africa should be preserved. Probably they never were
very abundant. Du Chaillu, during four years in Africa,
was able to collect only seventeen. Those interested in
the protection of the gorilla have appealed recently to
the League of Nations to secure laws that will save him
from extinction. ‘There has even been some attempt to
give the gorilla the status of native. It is to be fervently
hoped that sportsmen will no longer feel that they must
shoot a gorilla.

The second day that N’Gi was on exhibition, a lady
visitor to the Zoo protested that it was degrading to
keep an animal so much like a man in captivity, and
demanded to know why it was that it had been taken
away from its family. But the ape is not a man. It is not
even a close approach to man. Measurements of the
skull capacity tell part of the story. The skull cavity
of the gorilla, highest of the anthropoids, according to
the measurements of Dr. AleS Hrdlicka of the Smith-
sonian Institution, measures approximately 600 cubic
centimeters. The lowest figure for the human race ob-
tained from the thousands of skulls in the National
Museum collection is goo cubic centimeters in the case
of some ancient Peruvians who probably were imbecile.
The cranial capacity of the normal, adult white man
ranges between 1,500 and 2,000 cubic centimeters, so
the skull of a gorilla could never be mistaken for that
of a human being.

[ 28 ]

THE MANLIKE APES

Cranial capacity, true enough, is not an absolute
criterion of intelligence. The distinction is in the quality
of cell material inside the skulls, and this must be de-
termined largely by the evidence of behavior. But in
making any assertions regarding the mentality of apes
we are always on debatable ground, because there has
not been enough opportunity for observation under
favorable conditions, while there has been too much op-
portunity for diverse interpretations from the scanty data
which are available. Practically all of the observations
of ape behavior have been restricted to those in captivity,
where an animal provided with shelter and food, and
protected from all enemies, is probably quite a different
animal from the same creature struggling for survival
in an African jungle. There is little to sharpen what
wits the animal has. His humanlike form, coupled with
his unusual intelligence, makes it easy to teach the ape
to simulate man in many ways. He can smoke a cigar,
or eat at a table, but he always remains an ape. In the
Zoo we do not dress them up and do not teach them to
smoke, because we want apes in the collection, not
burlesque men.

Yesterday two small boys stood in front of the cage,
and one of them told the other: “That is the gorilla. He
is little now, but when he gets big he will be so strong
they will have to have a special cage for him, and I’ll
bet they have started to make that cage already.”

The chimpanzee, easiest to exhibit, is by far the best-
known of the anthropoids. He appears to be really happy
among people, and especially in his youth does he exhibit
a friendly attitude toward both spectators and keepers.
He does not brood over his troubles, though he is subject
to fits of temper, and will go into tantrums like any child.
Always a conscious actor, the chimpanzee glories in
applause. He acquires readily such complicated behavior
as is involved in sitting at a table with a napkin tucked

| 29 J

WILD ANIMALS

under his chin, and using knives and forks, or in running
a lawn mower, or turning a wringer.

Soko, the big chimpanzee in the National Zoological
Park, has for more than twelve years been a favorite
with the people. Physically he is a very fine animal.
At present he weighs about 140 pounds. Mr. Blackburne
writes the following account of him:

Soko was purchased from a dealer September 8, 1915.
He then weighed thirty-eight pounds and was four or
five years old. His estimated weight in 1928, when about
seventeen years old, was 130 pounds. When Soko first
came to the Zoo a table and a high chair were made fast
to the floor of his cage and his meals were served there
twice daily. Visitors, both old and young, enjoyed this
so much that the building was invariably packed at
feeding time—especially Sundays. His manners at the
table were very good and his handling of the spoon and
fork while eating sliced bananas or rice pudding would
compare favorably with those of a carefully taught child.
Soko dined at the table in this manner for several years.
At each meal he was given a pint of evaporated milk
which he poured from a bottle into a half-pint glass, to
drink. At his first performance before the public he
filled the glass to overflowing, but thereafter he always
exercised great care to avoid this. A white bib was
placed about his neck and a white tablecloth spread. He
was given a menu book which he opened and looked
over. He then rang a small dinner bell and the attendant
gave him a slip of paper and pencil. He scribbled on the
paper what passed for his order—bottle of milk, sliced
bananas, or rice pudding. He was very deliberate and
patient and quietly watched every movement of the
keeper. When through feeding he removed the bib,
wiped his mouth, used a toothpick, and brushed himself
with a hairbrush. He was then given the key to the
padlock of the cage door which he unlocked with ease.

[30]

RUA 2

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W. H. Blackburne, in charge of the animals since the National Zoo’s
inception, with N’Gi, baby gorilla

PLATE 13

Soko, the chimpanzee, when a tractable youngster

THE MANLIKE APES

He always put the key in his mouth to wet it before
unlocking the padlock.

During warm weather he was taken for walks about
the Park and enjoyed visits to the pens or cages of the
different animals—bears, elephants, deer, and what he
classed as common monkeys. He took great care not to
get too close, especially to animals that were more power-
ful than himself. He was very much afraid of horses,
and when one of the larger animals resented his presence
he would get behind me and peep at them or pull on the
leash to move away.

He disliked negroes, and they, of course, always followed
him .during his outings. Frequently he chased a good-
sized boy, grabbed him by the foot with his hand and
jerked the leg upwards, tossing the boy head foremost to
the ground. On one occasion he led the keeper into
Rock Creek Park. He had become somewhat unruly and
refused to obey. The keeper tied him to a tree and
telephoned for help, so I hurried off to the rescue in an
automobile. When Soko saw me he welcomed me with
loud calls and put his arms around my neck. He enjoyed
the ride back home but was very uneasy while fording
the Creek, taking a strong grip on my legs and peeping
out cautiously at the water. He soon became too power-
ful to take out for exercise as he could lead one where
he wished and his animosity to colored people made him
dangerous. He grew tired finally of displaying his civilized
manners at the table and he tore both table and chair
loose from their fastenings and gave a regular roughhouse
exhibition of how to demolish and break up furniture.

During his younger life he was very amiable and gentle.
He loved attention and was apt at learning. He enjoyed
riding a bicycle, raking up leaves, and pushing baby
carriages. He would bear down on the handle occasion-
ally to get a peep at the baby and look longingly at the
nursing bottle ; then in a questioning manner point to it.
He understood the meaning of “No.”

aint

WILD ANIMALS

At first, after arrival here, he grabbed at my eyeglasses
and watch charm. I caught his hands, slapped them,
then pointing to my glasses and charm, cautioned him
never to do so again, and he never did. He would care-
fully wind my watch and liked to hear it tick.

But Soko has now lost most of his playfulness. The
practice of feeding him at a table was discontinued, for
one reason, as Mr. Blackburne said, because he eventually
smashed all his furniture, and also because pickpockets
availed themselves of the large crowds that gathered
in front of the cage. In his old age he has no friends
beyond two or three keepers and a policeman who spends
considerable time in his house. He will call the policeman
by a buzzing noise when he is thirsty, and point to the
faucet. When he takes a dislike to visitors watching
him he will fly into fits of fearful rage, running up and
down the cage, standing erect and knocking the bars
with his knuckles and wrists. This is repeated for several
moments, after which he will sit down and seize the door
of his cage with all four feet, and rattle it for several
more minutes, and then repeat his running. These
tantrums are terminated always in one of two ways.
Either he will jump to the top of his cage and hit the
ceiling a hard punch, or he will suddenly catch a handful
of sawdust from the floor, and throw it at the person
who has attracted his disfavor. Then he sits down,
apparently having forgotten what excited him. A
visitor in the building after hours may set him off on
one of these rampages, and the building, hitherto quiet
for the night, becomes a bedlam. The lions in a nearby
cage roar, the hippo grunts, and sometimes even the
alligators join in the discord.

Soko, during his long residence at the Zoo, has shown
remarkable intelligence in many instances. On one
occasion he was troubled with a bad tooth, and Mr.
Blackburne pulled it. Some months later he called to

[32]

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THE MANLIKE APES

Mr. Blackburne with a loud buzzing noise that he uses
to attract his attention, and opening his mouth pointed
to another tooth, loose and evidently aching, and waited
patiently for it to be pulled out. The morning on which
this is being written, while we were standing in front
of his cage, he extended his hind foot and spread his toes,
indicating to his keeper that it was about time to trim
the nails.

The largest chimpanzee of which we have record was
one sent to the Melbourne Zoo some years ago by Ellis
Joseph, a noted naturalist, collector, and dealer. Now
Joseph himself is a superman physically, and he can
wrestle fairly well with a chimpanzee. Whenever he
visited Melbourne, he always called on the chimpanzee.
Once, after being away for about six months, he entered
the cage, as he had been accustomed to do, but the
chimpanzee became excited, threw his arms about him,
and instead of biting gently, made his teeth meet through
Joseph’s chin. The attacked man was strong enough
to stun the chimpanzee by a blow of his fist. He then
went out of the cage and walked to the hospital.

There is no doubt that the chimpanzee is a great deal
stronger than a man, but we have recently heard of a
specimen with a circus on the Pacific coast that was so
intractable that the circus owner employed a pugilist to
handle him. The boxer met the frontal attack of the
chimpanzee by a knock-out blow, and afterward the
chimpanzee not only respected him, but they became
great friends.

Next to the chimpanzee the most available of the great
apes for a zoological collection is the red-haired, long-
armed, funny-faced anthropoid from Borneo and Sumatra
—the orang-utan, ‘“‘man of the woods.” Though he has
got rid entirely of any vestiges of a tail, his general make-
up is less human than that of either the chimpanzee or
the gorilla. His broad, flattened face, due to a lateral

[33 ]

WILD ANIMALS

expansion of the cheeks caused by a kind of warty growth,
gives him a peculiarly goblinlike appearance.

The orang shows little inclination towards a stage
career. There is no joy in his performances, no delight
in applause. One of the most agile of creatures in the
jungle tree tops, he is slow and deliberate in captivity.
Most of the time he seems plunged in deep thought or
day dreams. He accepts his fate philosophically. He
is not particularly interested in the crowds that flock in
front of his cage. Like the other anthropoids, the orang
tends to become ill-tempered with age.

Recently orang-utans have come upon the market
in great numbers. An English dealer imported into the
States more than twenty of them in one shipment. There
were in the lot several groups of father, mother, and
young, all kept in small shipping crates because, had
they been taken out and put in larger quarters, it would
have been impossible to put them back into smaller
boxes for shipping. The story is that these animals were
obtained by building fires beneath the trees in which they
had their nests, and rendering them unconscious by a
sleep-inducing smoke.

Jiggs, the orang-utan at the National Zoological Park,
came from a New York animal dealer. For a long time
he lived with Joe Mendi, the chimpanzee, but Joe was
altogether too rough for him. There was nothing mali-
cious in his playing, but every time Jiggs would attempt
to walk, Joe would hurl himself upon him, so that for
the last several months that they lived together Jiggs
was afraid to stand up, and slid about the floor. It was
thought that he would get along much better away from
his mate, so he was put into a large cage with a duo of
gibbons, and from then on he blossomed out into a real
personality. He was able to walk and climb about
unnoticed, except for an occasional tap on the head from
one of the gibbons. He is especially fond of playing with
a burlap bag, part of his sleeping paraphernalia. He

[ 34]

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THE MANLIKE APES

will double it over a pole and then hang by the two ends.
Sometimes he will fall, but only when he is playing near
the ground. He has so far never taken any chances by
letting go one end of the bag while at any altitude. At
night he takes the burlap bag with him and climbs into
a manger, formerly a food box for a giraffe, and sleeps
there. He was so excited during the short visit of the
gorilla in his cage that he changed his sleeping place, or
rather sat up all night, with his arm around a pole.

This ape has a long memory. Several years ago an
American physician, then in Calcutta, was called to
treat one of them for some minor malady. Later the
animal was sold to the London Zoo. Three years after-
wards the doctor stopped in front of one of the ape cages
and the inmate, catching sight of him, rushed to the bars
and screamed to attract his attention. Inquiry revealed
that it was the same orang he had befriended at Calcutta.

Like the chimpanzee or the gorilla, the orang is most
engaging in infancy. The celebrated English naturalist,
Alfred Russel Wallace, relates the history of one which
he received in Borneo when the baby was only a foot
high. When first carried home this tiny creature took
such a firm grasp on his new owner’s beard that he could
hardly be pulled away. At first there were no signs of
teeth, but in a few days two of the lower incisors were cut.
Mr. Wallace could obtain no milk for the little ape but
he overcame this difficulty by feeding him on rice water,
which he sucked from a bottle by means of a quill through
acork. Later sugar and coconut milk were added to this
mixture. When caressed this ape was contented and
happy but soon began to scream when laid down. He
was kept in a box with a thick mat at the bottom. The
little fellow seemed to appreciate frequent baths and
when he wanted one would announce the fact by loud
screams. The process of drying and rubbing after each
bath seemed to be the source of much enjoyment. He
loved to have his hair combed. At first he clutched

[35]

WILD ANIMALS

vigorously with all four limbs at any object within reach
and his owner constantly had to guard his beard. When
he could find nothing better to do he would suck his own
toes.

After a few weeks a young macaque monkey was
introduced to the orang and the two soon became fast
friends. Mr. Wallace noted the helplessness of the ape
compared with the macaque, a characteristic which
distinguishes the young of all the anthropoids. Even
when the orang had been more than a month in captivity
he was quite unsteady on his hands and feet and fre-
quently would topple over, like an infant learning to
walk. When he required attention he would cry loudly
for a time, but if this met with no reply he would remain
still until he heard footsteps approaching, when the cries
would be renewed. He died of fever when about two
months old.

The last and lowest of the anthropoid apes—the
smallest, the most docile, and the least intelligent—is the
gibbon. Although these apes abound in southeastern
Asia and are not difficult to capture, there is little historical
reference to them in the records of zoological collections.
It is likely that they have not been exhibited to any great
extent except in the last half century. In the Zoological
Gardens at Calcutta they do well. In the United States
and Europe they constantly are threatened with con-
sumption, even when the greatest care is bestowed upon
them. They are gentle and confiding animals. When
captured young they can be tamed so as to make excellent
pets. They have some tendency, in common with all the
other apes, to become morose after they have passed the
stage of adolescence.

The agility of the wou-wou, or agile gibbon (Hy/obates
agilis) was demonstrated in 1840 at the Jardin des Plantes
in Paris when a live bird was released in its cage. After
watching the flight for a moment the ape swung suddenly
to a distant bar to which it clung with one hand while it

[ 36]

THE MANLIKE APES

grabbed the bird with the other. The hoolock (Hy/obates
hoolock), the gibbon seen most frequently in captivity, is
very fond of small birds, although it subsists mainly on
fruit and leaves, feeding occasionally on insects, spiders,
and eggs.

We have always found small gibbons a “bad buy.”
They appear to be happy, healthy, and playful, and
nearly always are friendly, but it seems to be a matter
of only a short time before they die. The most noted
gibbon of all is one at Philadelphia that has lived for
more than a quarter of acentury. This is a white-handed
species (Hylobates lar), which seems to be the best of all
for life in a cage. The two in the National Zoological
Park are both white-handed. One is black and one
yellowish brown, there being a great deal of variation in
color in the species.

There is no more graceful animal in the world than a
gibbon, and these two, when in action, make their thirty-
foot cage look as though it were full of gibbons.

Sunshine and fresh air are essential to keeping any of
the apes successfully in captivity. Perhaps it would be
better if they could be allowed complete liberty about
the zoological parks in fair weather. This, of course, is
not practical in the modern zoo with its great crowds
eager to feed and touch the animals. They must be kept
as far from contact with human beings as possible, not
only for the protection of the men and women but for the
well-being of the apes. All these animals are extremely
liable to infections from humans and when they are
indoors it is preferable to keep them in glass cages where
the germs of respiratory diseases spread by coughing
and spitting can not reach them. An infection that would
cause only a slight cold in a human being might cause
fatal pneumonia or tuberculosis in an ape. The present
tendency is to pay less attention to chills and drafts
and more to infections. A reasonably warm shelter to
which the animal can retire when it begins to feel uncom-

[37]

WILD ANIMALS

fortable probably is a sufficient protection, even in
northern countries. There probably is more danger in
keeping them too warm than in subjecting them to undue
cold. According to Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, the celebrated
German animal dealer, whose park outside of Hamburg
is a model for zoological gardens, the animal is the best
judge of the kind of weather that is good for it. When a
tropical animal, after a few months of acclimatization
wants to roll in the snow, it may safely do so. Nature
will tell it when it is going too far.

[ 38 ]

CHAPTER IV
THE MONKEY TRIBE

Tue National Zoological Park maintains a collection of
from forty to fifty species of monkeys, exclusive of the
larger anthropoids. The monkey house, originally built
as a small mammal house, contains a collection of moods
and dispositions, as well as of animals. It is a house of
personalities. When one gets behind the bars in front
of the baby koodoo, an African antelope, and the koodoo
comes over to be petted, one knows that it would come
to be petted by anyone else as well. This is true of many
animals. But the monkey, in addition to having person-
ality himself, recognizes it in others.

Many people like to attract the attention of animals to
themselves. That is why they make friendly gestures
and sounds in front of the cage, and that is how one of
our baby leopards has drawn blood three times this year
on visitors. Instead of letting him sleep, as he wants to,
the visitor likes to reach over the guard rail and snap
his fingers at him, just a little too close. Officially, we
are always very sorry when something like this happens.
Many animals, and especially the big cats, are most
superb snobs, who look past or through a would-be
friend, utterly ignoring him. But the monkey takes an
interest in the crowds. He loves their applause, as well
as their peanuts. A few are exceptions, of course.

One long-armed Chacma baboon from Rhodesia we
once had was the world’s prize humorist, who under-
stood the visitors better than they did him, and dearly
loved his little joke. He would lie next to the bars of his

[39]

WILD ANIMALS

cage, his eyes half closed, and one arm hanging out the
cage. Often he would rotate a straw carelessly between
his thumb and finger, his whole attention apparently
concentrated on that. The visitor would make various
attempts to attract his notice, often by poking an um-
brella toward him. Then the arm would dart out twice
as far as seemed possible, and the umbrella would be
taken in the cage. He had learned, himself, how to open
one, and as soon as he had it open, would depart for his
outside cage. As the door through which he had to pass
was less than two feet square, the umbrella came out of
the ordeal fit only for a monkey plaything. He could
skillfully break a cane, and during his career at the Zoo
the keepers counted sixty-eight umbrellas and canes
captured by him. Once a gold watch, dangled on the
end of a gold chain to attract him, gave him one of the
happiest half hours of his life. A marabou boa furnished
joy for an afternoon. He was defeated only once. He
took an old-time policeman’s helmet from a policeman
who was waving it, but he could not get it through the
bars because of the metal reinforcing in the hat. He did,
however, get the band and part of the brim. The rest
he struggled with unsuccessfully for hours, and was
never quite the same monkey afterward.

One of the duties of a zoological park director is to tell
mothers and fathers not to get pet monkeys for the
children. Around Christmas time we receive many letters
and telephone calls in regard to this. Nearly all monkeys
are affectionate, docile creatures in youth, but only a
few of them do not become surly as they grow old, and
although from time immemorial they have been kept as
pets, they can not be recommended for this purpose.
They seldom like children, although a few of the smaller
South American kinds do make charming house com-
panions for a time. A lady writes and asks if we will
accept Mike, a capuchin monkey, who has become too
mischievous around the house. We accept it. A week

[ 40 ]

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THE MONKEY TRIBE

later the lady writes that Johnny will not console himself
for the loss of the monkey, and asks if we will please
send it back. We send it back, and the lady finds that
Mike, in his week at the Zoo, has become an entirely
different animal from the one she sent us, so in two days
more he returns and becomes a permanent resident.

The langurs, long-tailed monkeys of southeastern Asia,
are usually considered the highest in the monkey scale of
intelligence, below the anthropoid apes. The best known
of these is the hanuman (Pygathrix entellus), the sacred
monkey of India, dedicated to the god Hanuman. Its
whitish color, except for a black face and the overhang-
ing brows of long, stiff black hair, and its long tail give
it a striking appearance. In India it is considered a
sacrilege to kill one of these, and the townspeople allow
them to plunder food shops at will. In consequence they
have become tame and utterly fearless in the presence of
man, yet it is almost impossible to keep them alive in
captivity for any length of time. Most probably this is
due to their food habits, as they live naturally on leaves,
young shoots, and buds of various sorts, and even in the
zoological garden at Calcutta their life is usually very
short.

In general, monkeys that live in nature on buds and
leaves are most difficult to keep in captivity. In addition
to the langurs, the interesting howling monkey of South
America, the proboscis monkey (Nasalis larvatus) of
Borneo, and the species of Colobus confined to Africa
are all leaf eaters, and notoriously difficult to keep alive
for any length of time, though recently specimens of
Colobus have lived upwards of three years in American
zoos, and one howling monkey for three years.

On its way back from East Africa, the Smithsonian-
Chrysler Expedition secured several purple-faced mon-
keys (Pygathrix cephalopterus) of Ceylon, a relative of
the langur. We had cabled ahead that we were in the
market for animals, and during the one evening of our

[41]

WILD ANIMALS

stay, available for purchases, all the animal stores in
town kept open until midnight. Dark little holes they
were, all of them, lighted only by candles or by our
matches, which made shopping difficult. The night’s catch
consisted of a number of green fruit pigeons, quantities of
spice finches, a mynah bird, a large gunny sack full of
turtles, and eleven specimens of this purple-faced monkey.
Aboard ship the captain told us that he had plied for
years between Ceylon and London, and had never seen
one of these animals, out of many taken aboard, arrive
alive in England. Ours were placed under every condition
that we could think of—tied to strings on deck; several in a
large cage, kept gloomy; several in another large cage, kept
in the bright light; and others in solitary confinement—
and we fed them almost everything we could think of.
They all ate well, and except for being very timid,
seemed to be thriving. However, we landed with only
five, and but one of these lived for more than six months.
Once, last year, in a New York animal dealer’s
store, we saw the stuffed skin of a proboscis monkey
from Borneo. This animal had died when a few days
out from New York City, and his death must have been
a sad blow to the dealer, for one has never been seen
alive in any American collection. A little one once
reached Amsterdam, but lived only a few weeks. Several
have been kept in Calcutta, and Sanyal says, “Whatever
may be the habits of the proboscis monkey in a wild
state, it is silent, slow and phlegmatic in captivity, and
sits for hours together in one place, scarcely noticing the
visitors standing outside the cage. The only time that
it has ever been seen to become lively is at the hour of
feeding.” The langur has very much the same habits.
The Colobus, especially the East African variety called
guereza, makes a notable exhibit when it can be obtained.
Several have come to the United States, and the Chicago
Zoo obtained one nearly two years ago which is still alive.
I once had the pleasure of holding a Colobus in a taxi

[ 42 ]

THE MONKEY TRIBE

from the Bronx to the Pennsylvania depot in New York
City, where it was to take train for St. Louis. This
animal had developed a violent fear of its owner, an
animal trader of tremendous bulk, and took up with
anyone of smaller size. It lived only a few months.

The guenons, whose name in French means “‘one who
grimaces,”” are represented by about twenty species of
monkeys, and all come from Africa. Small, pretty and
intelligent, they are ideal monkeys for a zoo. The mona
guenon of West Africa is one of the commoner forms.
A pair at the National Zoological Park have produced
eight young, all of which were raised to maturity.

Perhaps the most beautiful of all this family is the
West African Diana, rarely seen in zoos, which derived
its name from the fancied resemblance of the white
crescent on its forehead to the silver bow of the goddess.
Black of face, it has a long white beard and white throat
and shoulders, with the upper part of the body and the
forelegs iron gray, speckled with a pepper-and-salt arrange-
ment of dots. In the center of the back is a deep chestnut
patch and the lower parts are a brilliant yellow. This
is an extremely friendly creature, and takes a great deal
of care of its beautiful fur. One that was kept in confine-
ment is said to have always drawn its beard aside with
the hand when drinking to prevent wetting. The last
Diana that we had at the National Zoo lived for five
years, and was the pride of the monkey house. A visitor
came in one day carrying a little bunch of laurel (the
carrying of flowers in the Park was not prohibited then)
and when the monkey reached out his hand for the leaves
the visitor let him have them. A few minutes later the
monkey died in convulsions, and we have never been
able to obtain another of its kind since.

The vervets, as common in parts of East Africa as gray
squirrels are around Washington, live well in collections.
On the recent African trip we brought home about thirty.
We had captured these by throwing a circle of native

[ 43 ]

WILD ANIMALS

boys around trees containing troops of them. The mon-
keys became demoralized and dropped down to run
through the grass to another tree, whereupon we would
grab one, pop it into a bag, and after rubbing some iodine
where it had bitten, go after another. The procedure was
always the same. One vervet we kept upon a string about
camp, and he became very tame. On the ship he was
adopted by the crew. The second day at sea he became
violently seasick, but didn’t let that interfere with his
dinner. He would swallow a mouthful of banana, then
become seasick, and then swallow another mouthful of
banana.

The guenons are really the finest type of monkey for
zoos. In addition to diversity in form and in color,
they are characterized by extreme agility and activity.
They have a full bag of tricks, can amuse themselves,
and in addition are hardy and good natured.

The sooty mangabey from West Africa is perhaps the
most gentle in disposition of all the monkeys in the col-
lection. This monkey receives a great deal of sympathy
from the visitors. He has no hair on his face, and the
bald cheeks are sunken in badly, giving him the face of
a thinker, with deep-set eyes under a predominant brow.
Visitors usually conclude that he is in the last stage of
tuberculosis, a disease which, by the way, is actually
very rare in our monkey house. Pneumonia and enteric
troubles are the great sources of loss.

A white-collared mangabey and a Hagenbeck’s manga-
bey lived together for years. The former was a young
one when he came, and the Hagenbeck mangabey bullied
him considerably. The white-collared specimen waited
for some years. As he attained maturity, the Hagenbeck
grew old, and one day the cage became the scene of a
royal fight. From this time on conditions were reversed;
the white-collar has been boss. He no longer bullies the
Hagenbeck, but itis an understood thing that when dainty
morsels are thrown into the cage he is to have first choice.

[ 44 ]

RIG AGEE

De Brazza’s guenon, an African species. An ideal monkey for a
ZOO, but rare

THE MONKEY TRIBE

Mr. Blackburne tells the story of a well-known circus
proprietor whom he heard one afternoon in the show’s
menagerie tent, bewailing the public’s lack of discretion.
“That $12,000 rhino over there—six people in front of
the cage. Everybody else in the show hanging around a
$45 collection of monkeys.” These were the rhesus, the
animals that spell monkey to the average person. They
are imported into the United States in lots of hundreds,
or even thousands, and retailed at small prices as pets,
show animals, or for use in medical laboratories. They
breed readily in captivity, and the colony that we have
had for fifteen years came to us from a Government
medical laboratory and has maintained itself ever since,
living in a large cage out-of-doors without artificial heat,
though a stout shelter has been given to them for the
winter.

Sanyal of Calcutta has probably had more rhesus under
his care than has any other zoological park official, and
he says of them in his Hand-Book of the Management
of Animals in Captivity in Lower Bengal:

They pass most of their time in alternate fighting and playing; after
a violent quarrel they change to the other extreme, and behave as
if they were the mildest of creatures. . . . They fight most during
feeding time, if not checked by the keeper; but it is not easy, even
with close observation, to ascribe a cause for each particular skirmish.
The sudden violence of their fury is extraordinary. Animals at one
moment living in perfect amity and concord become in an instant
deadly foes, ready to tear each other to pieces. The weak or the
sickly and the new-comers fare badly. Monkeys of this species are
proverbially mischievous: they constantly snatch away a stick or
umbrella, or even an eye-glass, and when attempts are made to recover
the articles their behavior shows how they enjoy their mischief. Some-
times they appear to rob visitors from simple curiosity and inquisitive-
ness, and not in a wicked or mischievous spirit. They also are ad-
dicted to playing with their drinking water and splashing it about.
However quarrelsome and mischievous they may be, these monkeys
generally are submissive to their keeper, having by experience learnt
to dread his power; but should a new keeper happen to enter their
cage, he is likely to be attacked by the whole troop, led generally
by an aggressive old male. Keepers often have been wounded in such

[45 ]

WILD ANIMALS

outbreaks; but if they are firm and exhibit no nervousness, the mon-
keys soon recognize their master and resume a peaceful attitude.

Both the rhesus and the macaque monkeys are fond of water and
swim and dive well. A number of young monkeys (M. rhesus and M.
cynomolgus) were at one time allowed to run loose in the garden; they
greatly enjoyed their freedom, and were often seen on a sultry after-
noon perched on one of the trees near the Serpentine lake, and jumping
one after another into the water and indulging in a swim. On one
occasion they appeared to be engaged in a regular diving match;
they were divided into two parties, sitting on opposite banks of a
narrow arm of the lake. . . . On one occasion, one of them having
noticed an official of the adjacent Meteorological Observatory in the
act of taking some observation with the aid of certain instruments,
proceeded stealthily to the observatory and was seen deliberately to
upset one of the instruments. On another occasion one of them
intruded into the drawing-room of a lady, then living in the house
next to the garden, upset an inkstand and spoiled, it was said, some
valuable documents. He did this, it was conjectured, in his uncouth
attempt to imitate the lady whom he had observed writing.

A monkey’s capacity for showing affection was exhibited in the
behavior of one of a pair of rhesus monkeys from the Simla Hills,
whose companion had been severely wounded and was therefore kept
confined in a small cage for treatment. While the patient was in this
condition the one who was still at large and well was much concerned
and would sit almost the whole day by the side of the cage and af-
fectionately caress the invalid in various ways through the bars.

These monkeys are almost omnivorous. Boiled rice, soaked gram,
biscuits, pumpkin, cucumber, brinjal, and other vegetables constitute
their ordinary food. Eggs are occasionally added to their diet as
substitutes for the insects and spiders which, in their wild state, they
eat besides fruits and vegetables. . . . Minced meat is sometimes, but
rarely, given them... .

Female monkeys nurse their young with great tenderness, and
are competent to protect them from harm; the older animals do not
molest the young, so that the latter have been reared in the midst of
a number, but it is always better, as elsewhere remarked, to segregate
the female when a birth is expected. .. .

In about a month the young one begins to pick up gram and other
food, and then the struggle for life soon begins, and the mother and
the young one commence to fight over their food, although their
natural instincts bind them to each other at other times.

The Philippine macaque, another species, is a smaller
and handsomer monkey than the Indian, and it is es-

[ 46 |

By Benson B. Moore

Sketches from an artist’s note book.

Ficicd.

ae
Thy)
we

4
ey
Ny Ry
¥

Fic. 5. Sketches from an artist’s note book. By Bensen B. Moore

THE MONKEY TRIBE

pecially interesting because at the present time it is the
only warm-blooded Philippine animal living in the
United States. It was officially barred from entry because
of certain blood diseases which might be communicated
through it to live stock in the States. Probably all three
specimens in our collection have been smuggled in. We
do not know how this was accomplished, but we have
heard of the case of a mascot belonging to an army band.
When one day out from San Francisco they heard that
the monkey would not be allowed to land, so they brought
him ashore in the bass drum, which was beaten as the
band played on the march from the boat to the barracks.
One would like to know the condition of the macaque’s
nerves at the end of the parade.

The least likable monkey is the Java macaque, yet it is
the best breeder of all. Our little troop rarely fails to
produce at least one young each year.

The Japanese red-faced monkey, which is likewise a
macaque, comes from farthest north of all the monkey
family, with the exception of a variety from northern
China. Our pair have produced three young, one of
which died after dropping from the bars of the cage and
injuring its spine. The other two are thriving. Last
summer the keeper entered the cage with the four of
them, as had been his habit every day, having with
him only a broom. A broom, by the way, is one of the
most serviceable implements in an animal cage, not only
serving to sweep, but in case of need as a defense against
the animals, and also to corner an animal one is trying
to catch. One of the babies shrieked, apparently for no
reason, but in a second the other three in the cage were
on top of the keeper. Before he could get out he was so
severely lacerated that he had to spend two weeks in a
hospital.

George, the Park’s formidable male magot, or Barbary
ape, and his mate are said to have been caught on the
Rock of Gibraltar itself, and to have come to a steamship

[ 47 ]

WILD ANIMALS

captain as pets, though this is highly improbable. Of
large size, powerful build, and wicked disposition, they
belong in the category of the most dangerous animals in
the Park. The two are kept out-of-doors all the year
long and have never shown any discomfort during the
cold weather. George has developed a bad temper and is
also intelligent. He can hurl a stone with great force and
considerable accuracy, and has several times cut boys in
the face. If he would hit only the boy who has thrown
the stone into the cage there would be no serious objection,
but he does not distinguish between visitors, so we have
had to put wire mesh on the outside of his cage. He was
very skillful with a tin basin of water, also. By making
weird grimaces he would concentrate the attention of the
public on his face, at which time he would quietly and
quickly seize the water basin and hurl its contents, again
with accuracy, into the face of some particular bystander.
So we gave him a large cement drinking pan that he
could not throw, but he learned in a short time to cup
his hand, and in that way splash visitors.

The Barbary ape supplied man with a knowledge of
anatomy in very early times. This species is probably
the pithecus described by Aristotle, and an account of
its anatomy by Galen has come down to our times.
The European foothold of these monkeys is Gibraltar,
where the Government carefully protects them despite
their destructiveness. At times they have faced extinc-
tion, and at other times they have been so abundant
that the local government has seriously considered
reducing their numbers.

The Barbary ape has long been kept as a pet in Europe.
Young ones are playful and great mimics. The French
priest, Caubasson, relates a laughable anecdote of one
of the animals which he brought up and which became
so attached to him as to want to accompany him wherever
he went. One day the animal escaped and, without the
priest’s knowledge, followed him to church. He climbed

[ 48 ]

VILYY JSvy WOIJ UOOGE dArTTO BunOA ‘yeIES

8l ALVI1d

THE MONKEY TRIBE

silently to the top of the sounding board above the
pulpit, where he lay perfectly still until the sermon
began. He then crept to the edge and imitated the
preacher’s gestures in so grotesque a manner that the
worshipers were convulsed with laughter. Caubasson
did not know what was causing the merriment. He re-
proved the congregation for its ill-timed levity. The
women giggled and the men roared. The priest lost his
temper. The angrier he became the more maliciously
the monkey imitated his movements and the more the
congregation laughed. Finally a friend stepped up to the
altar and told the clergyman what was the trouble.
The animal was removed and peace restored in the church.

In spite of its large size, great strength, and resistance
to cold, the Barbary ape does not generally do well in
captivity in America.

The pig-tailed macaque, a common species, has a repre-
sentative in our collection in the person of Pops, who
has been here now eight years, and still preserves a fairly
good disposition. This is the monkey which natives of
some districts of Sumatra train to climb coconut palms
to pick and throw down the ripe fruit—the only monkey
that has ever been trained as an agricultural animal.
He has another claim to uniqueness among such servants
of the human race in that his value depends largely upon
his only expression of intelligence, namely, his ability to
select the ripe fruits. Why did not primitive man, while
studying and domesticating the horse, pig, sheep, and
cow, also breed a more tractable family of apes? Soko,
our chimpanzee, could run a lawn mower. Why could
not a gorilla, domesticated through a thousand genera-
tions, work a plow, or an orang-utan hoe potatoes? Any-
way, Pops is intelligent, and often, as we gaze at his
expression, we think he would make a nice addition to
our police force.

Next to macaques, baboons occur most commonly in
collections, several species being usual to most zoos. In

[49]

WILD ANIMALS

Africa, where they run in large troops and do great damage
to cultivated crops, they are considered a nuisance, and
often a bounty is offered for their destruction. The direc-
tor of agriculture of the Gold Coast tells us that when the
big, malignant Anubis baboons raid the plantations
the natives are afraid to attempt to drive them off. A
spear or an arrow wounding one would cause the entire
troop to charge. Nothing could be more fearful than
these large, powerful, vicious, and intelligent opponents.
In Tanganyika they are sometimes destroyed in quantities
by the use of nets. During the day the animals troop
around on the ground, but at night go into a tree to sleep.
The natives locate these sleeping places and during the
night arrange a high net around the base of the tree.
The baboons, when attempting to get through or over,
are clubbed from the outside. The bounty in Tanganyika
was sixpence per animal, and this was paid on presenta-
tion of the tail. We saw a young one kept as a pet by a
white lady. The native who captured it had cut off the
tail, obtained the sixpence bounty for it, and then sold the
rest of the animal for another sixpence.

Very seldom do we see an adult baboon live long in
captivity. It is surprising that with so many young
coming into the market, so few attain maturity. This is
partly due, of course, to cage paralysis, which seems to
attack the majority of young monkeys in captivity. It
is evidently a form of rickets. The hind legs become
paralyzed, and eventually the animal dies.

In East Africa we succeeded in obtaining all we wanted
of young olive baboons without difficulty. Natives
would bring them into the camp and sell them for a few
cents. One that we had was named Emma, as eccentric
an old maid as ever lived in a monkey community. She
was crabbed, complaining, and combative, as well as
sulky, and the other baboons let her alone. One’ day
Sarah, a most scrawny little baboon of the same species,
was brought in and spent the first day screeching at

[ 50]

THE MONKEY TRIBE

everything, including Emma. The second day found
them both fast friends, and Emma would actually stand
aside while little Sarah had her pick of the food, an
occurrence very rare among monkeys.

Bringing home a shipment of monkeys constitutes an
experience that one would rather look back upon than
go through. In our forty-day trip returning from East
Africa, we had seventy-odd monkeys in the collection—
vervets, baboons of various types, purple-faced monkeys,
and Moor macaques that we picked up in a bird store
at Port Said. The first day at sea these were scattered
helter-skelter on the ship’s deck, but later on we got
them all caged, and the cages placed three tiers deep in
a neat row. Many of the animals were recently caught
specimens, and it required some time before they took
kindly to their new quarters. Monkeys are often com-
pared to children, without any sound basis for doing so,
but there is one point in which a monkey does strikingly
resemble a willful child. When he wants something he
will screech for it. My lot of monkeys came to know me,
and as soon as I hove in sight with a basket of food,
raucous yells would come out of every cage. They got
on my nerves so that I would prepare the food out of
sight and then dash into the monkey quarters and get
it into the cages as fast as possible. A plate of food in
a cage would hush that one, and by the time I had reached
the end of the line, the last screech was over. An hour
later, when I would be working with other animals in the
same vicinity, the commotion would start again. Seventy
monkeys howling their loudest at close range are difficult
to bear, and so I was glad to discover that a handful of
Kafir corn thrown into each cage would keep the occu-
pants busy hunting for it, and consequently quiet.

Of New World monkeys, the most intelligent is the
spider monkey, varieties of which occur from southern
Mexico throughout the warm, wooded parts of South
America. Besides being the most intelligent, he is the

Poa

WILD ANIMALS

most smelly; two or three of them suffice to change the
atmosphere of an otherwise clean monkey house.

Certain South American monkeys are notoriously
delicate and difficult to rear. When the natives were
asked for some of these species, the reply was almost
invariably the same: “It is only the imfeles who under-
stand how to rear these.” The infie/es are the unbaptized
savages on the upper reaches of the tributaries. In one
of their villages we found three baby howling monkeys.

We once shot a large female black spider monkey on
the shores of the Little Rio Negro, in Bolivia. Shooting
monkeys may be sport where they are in the tops of
high trees and running, so one can’t see their expression
when hit. But once I brought one down at close range,
and I never again shall fire at one. However, this female
was shot partly for food for my Indian companions, and
partly to get a young one, which I saw clinging to her.
She dropped dead. I took the little one away and tied
him with a string on the deck of the launch alongside
my cot, where he shriecked himself to sleep. In the
morning when I awoke, he was sitting there looking at
me. I lifted him to my knee and gave him a piece of
banana, and he sat there calmly eating it, having evi-
dently made up his mind that if he had to be a pet mon-
key, he was going to start right there. On this trip we
had many small animals in cages, some of them very
rare and delicate monkeys, so that I kept them in the
room of the native house in which I happened to be
staying. On account of the unusual fragrance of the
spider monkey, I preferred having him outside, but he
would sit at the door and howl until I let him in with
the other animals, when he was contented.

José Mafiana was a black spider monkey given to me
in Honduras. José had been taken from his mother when
very small, a year before, and the limit of the world to
him was a string stretched between the rear veranda and
the cook shed of a fruit plantation house. At first he

[52]

PLATE 19

* |
Ve)

ing-tailed lemur. ayful, gentle, and a good zoo subjec
Ring-tailed | Playful, gentle, 1 l byject

THE MONKEY TRIBE

didn’t like travel, which is not to be wondered at, for he
had his maiden trip on a little automobile car on the
railroad track, a means of transportation which always
makes a windy voyage. But when he finally got aboard
ship where the sailors played with him, he was obviously
delighted with the world and its variety. In New York
I had to leave him checked at the railroad station for a
half day. When I called for him in the evening he pro-
tested in unmistakable language that it had been a very
boring experience. But he displayed his greatest emotion
when brought to Washington and placed in the monkey
house. For a year he had not seen another monkey.
He had no fear of them, and his thrill at seeing so many,
and his energy in trying to express himself about them,
were “almost human.”?

The spider monkey is to the gibbon what beer is to
champagne. It is the poor zoo’s gibbon, and one of the
most graceful in motion of all animals, providing it
has a sufficiently roomy cage. It is very active and
intelligent and one of the few monkeys which harbor lice in
quantities.

The woolly monkeys, near cousins to the spiders, have
the gentlest disposition of all the families. In a few days
one becomes tame, and even individuals captured when
adult are never very fierce. They get their name from
their fine coat of hair. Their prehensile tails are de-
veloped, if anything, even more than the spider monkey’s.

I once brought to the Park an adult brown woolly mon-
key from the Amazon, whom I called Jack. He lived in
the Park for about two years. In the summer time he
had a habit of eating leaves from the trees, the branches
of which drooped above his cage. He would soon eat
all of those that he could reach with his long forearms,
and then he would back up to the cage and with the tip
of his long tail pull off and bring into the cage those leaves
that were farther away. We were in the habit of taking

1A statement which every writer on animals should avoid.

[53]

WILD ANIMALS

advantage of this facility to offer Jack a peanut out of
reach of his long forearms, whereupon he would encom-
pass the nut with the fingerlike tip of his tail as he did
the distant leaves. This was long before I had become
officially connected with the Zoo. I liked to show off
this accomplishment of Jack’s, and wished to do so one
evening just as the keepers were leaving, for the benefit
of some young ladies. Visitors are not supposed ta go
behind the guard rail without special permission, so I
asked the departing keeper if I could go behind and give
Jack a peanut. With permission granted I stepped inside,
and Jack was performing beautifully for our audience,
when a rich Irish voice invited me to “come out of it,
and what are you doing in there?” It was a new police-
man who did not know me, but who knew that people
should not go behind the rails. I explained that I had
just received permission. He demanded to see the
permission. I couldn’t show it to him, and didn’t know
where the keeper was gone, so it looked bad for a time
until the head keeper, who had stayed over for a picnic
supper with his wife, rescued me. He afterwards gave
me a card with permission to go behind the guard rails,
but the joke of my being arrested for giving my own
monkey a peanut got abroad, and served to cheer my
revered chief in the Department of Agriculture through
an otherwise dull summer.

The woolly monkey is really the only one that makes
a good pet. Its single drawback lies in its extreme
delicacy. Very rarely does one live any appreciable length
of time. One species, Humboldt’s woolly monkey, in-
habits the upper Amazon, and in going down the Rio
Madeira we found that the price among the natives for
these animals about doubled with each day’s journey
down the river. In the section where the bird and animal
venders hold forth in the great municipal market at Para
we found two woollies. One of them, nearly adult, was
a magnificent specimen, and I returned from day to day

[54]

THE MONKEY TRIBE

to bargain for him. His owner refused to sell because,
as he said, the monkey was as one of his family, but he
finally gave him to me in return for a token of high
esteem in the form of a large gold coin. Barrigudo (his
native name, given to him on account of a protruding
abdomen) became the leading man of our animal actors
on the poop deck of the steamer. One day he escaped
from his leash, and when I found him he was sitting on
the deck happily engaged in bouncing up and down a
wicker cage which up to the time he had seized it had
contained fourteen living, very beautiful small birds.
As I approached he bounced it even harder, and beamed
at me with the air of one accomplishing a good as well as
a clever deed, and then leaped into my arms. I found it
hard in a case like this to punish the murderer, even
though, before he had accomplished these things, he had
accumulated an inch of grease from an exposed part of
the steering gear, which he deposited on my shirt front.

A companion of mine on an expedition became very
indignant at the moving-picture man, and told him that
it was lucky he was born in this generation instead of the
previous one, adding that a few years ago the only way
a man could make a living turning a crank was by having
a monkey help him. The capuchin is the common mon-
key assistant to the organ grinder man, even today. There
are a dozen kinds. They all come from tropical America.
In general, like all other American monkeys, they do not
breed well in captivity, even while in the semi-wild state
in which they are kept in the villages in South America.

Mathias was the capuchin that I knew best. A Govern-
ment launch came to our village on the Rio Beni, and the
natives from the nearby territory were called in so that
conscripts could be selected for the army. Those who
were going away were lined up, and their friends stood
in a mass opposite them. One Indian girl was weeping
because her boy was going away to be a soldier. Mathias,
then a very small capuchin, sat on her shoulder. I took

[55]

WILD ANIMALS

him off and thrust a bill into the girl’s hand. She stopped
crying long enough to say, “Thank you,” and to hand
the money to her soldier. Mathias was one of the friend-
liest monkeys I have ever known, but he was so badly
afflicted with worms that I was afraid to let him live
among the other monkeys, and finally one day in des-
peration I popped a santonin pill down him, telling him
apologetically that if it didn’t kill him it would make
him better; and Mathias lived more than two years
longer than all of the other youngsters of his tribe that
we brought home to Washington. Cage paralysis eventu-
ally overcame him, but even when he could no longer
crawl, he would roll over to the bars to be petted. On
the voyage home he lived in an empty coal bunker with
the other animals, and he would play busily all the time
that I was feeding and caring for the stock. As soon as
I would climb the ladder to the deck, he would curl
around the base of a cluster of electric lights and snooze
until I returned. Apparently he cared to play only
while somebody was watching him.

Of all the American monkeys, the capuchins are the
hardiest in captivity, comparatively short-lived though
they are. They are great beggars, whether hungry or
not, and when food is given to them that they do not
want they play with it for a few moments and then
return to begging. They are the commonest American
monkeys in zoos.

A baby white-throated capuchin, recently captured,
that I had in Honduras could give at first five distinct
calls. He was brought to me by a hunter at Choloma and
for the first half hour of captivity sat tied to a window
sill and gave a plaintive, shrill cry, evidently the call to
his mother. He seemed to forget this almost immedi-
ately, and never afterward repeated it. Like all baby
monkeys, he was very fond of hanging on to anybody,
and by reason of this made himself a great nuisance. He
was violently afraid of flies, and would shriek and strike

[ 56]

PLATE 20

The household pet, Zanzi. Garnett’s galago from Zanzibar, a member
of the lemur family

THE MONKEY TRIBE

out whenever one approached him. This may have
been due to experience with wasps in the tree tops.

The monkey with the worst penchant for clinging to
one is the titi, or squirrel monkey (Saimiri sciureus),
another South American animal. Except for this habit
he is a gentle, playful, and pleasant pet. But once he
develops a taste for being held, he will shriek without
stopping until picked up. The resemblance of the physiog-
nomy of this monkey to that of a child was long ago
noted by Humboldt. He wears a similar expression of
innocence, a similar playful smile, and makes a similar
sudden change from joy to sorrow. His movements are
light and graceful. The natives sell these monkeys in
boxes like pigeon crates in the markets at Para, at ridic-
ulously low prices. Their reputation for living in captivity
is not good. I had the idea that this was due to lonesome-
ness, and determined to bring home a lot of them to put
in one cage. One had lived with me for six months on
the river, and was doing well, so I acquired a dozen more.
Just before we went aboard the ship I secured a cage of
eighteen in the market, and transferred them to a roomier
box. Next morning twelve out of the lot of eighteen
were dead, I have no idea why. A dozen reached Wash-
ington in good health, where they lasted scarcely eighteen
months.

The upper Amazon is tenanted by dozens of species of
weird monkeys which seldom or never come into captivity.
The bearded saki (Pithecia chiropotes) is one of these—
slow moving, pathetic in expression, and with a long
black beard. I saw one once in the zoo at Amsterdam
that had lived there for eighteen months, but that was
a rare record. Another saki (Pithecia monachus) is
grayish in color. A Brazilian lady at Porto Velho had
two of these that lived as members of the family, even
sleeping at night in miniature hammocks in true Brazilian
style. When I tried to buy them she said, “Perhaps,
sefor, one of my other children, but certainly neither

[57]

WILD ANIMALS

of these two.” We have had one red ouakari (Cacajao
rubicundus) from Colombia in the Park. Its long red
hair and slow movements suggest a miniature orang-
utan.

The smallest of all the monkeys are the marmosets—
gentle, delicate little creatures, with a call hardly to be
distinguished from the chirp of a bird. The brightness of
their small eyes makes them appear very intelligent,
which they are not, though they take to captivity very
readily. A young one that I had on the upper Amazon
shrieked lustily until I gave him a woollen sock into
which he dived, curling up in the toe for the night. Ever
after at bedtime he would shriek for this same sock. He
was a very rare species, and I kept him in a cage close
to my bed, where he would wake me up every morning
with a discordant chirping. The sight of a cockroach or
a spider would cause him to chirp like a whole flock of
birds, and he would accept a cockroach offered to him
with forceps and eat it voraciously.

The douroucouli, owl monkey, or night monkey, of
which we have had three species, is the only one of the
family that is nocturnal. He is a great favorite in Brazil
as a pet, and is seen frequently on the shoulders of women.
Like many other delicate monkeys, this species thrives
much better when kept as a pet, with reasonably intelli-
gent care, than it does in a cage, although we have had
specimens for more than six years. It is largely wasted
in a zoo, because it spends the day curled up in sleep.
One that we had in camp became more or less diurnal.
He was given the run of a large native house, and spent
a great deal of time exploring. He was fond of going
into paper bags, and sometimes out of sheer exuberance
would jump straight up a foot or so in the air, and sing
“Whoo! Whoo!” with each jump.

A rare Cebus monkey is the pale capuchin. One be-
longed to an Indian who had him tied by a short chain
to a peg, and who put a basket over him at night. His

[58]

THE MONKEY TRIBE

one possession was a pair of trousers that had become
too dilapidated for the Indian to wear, which is dilapida-
tion to the mth degree. When we caged the animal we
had to remove this garment, and he mourned for it a good
hour. This fellow and his mate were very nervous and
timid, and it took weeks to get their confidence, but
eventually I could put my hand in the cage and we would
have a nice rough-house, with the monkeys pretending to
bite my fingers. One day the male got my thumb between
his canines, and bit harder than either of us had intended.
My face was against the bars, and I said, “Ouch!” very
loudly. The sound of my voice in the box so terrified
them that months passed before they became tame
again.

The cages in which we were bringing home our collec-
tion had been improvised from anything available in
camp, and some of them were as weird and wonderful
as the animals themselves. We eventually got our
collection to Manaos, and loaded it aboard the steamer
ready for the sixteen days’ trip to New York. The
captain in command did not like animals. On the previous
voyage some of the sailors had bought pets to take to
New York. Monkeys had got loose, and in addition to
the commotion about the ship, newspaper men got hold
of the story and wrote things that the captain did not
like, so he had called the crew together on the voyage
down and had promised to knock the head off any man
who brought anything alive aboard the ship. The agent
at Mandos had given me permission to bring home the
collection before the captain knew of it. I installed the
animals on the poop deck behind an unused galley struc-
ture, in which I could store food. As the captain came
aboard in the evening just before sailing, he waved
gaily to me, but when he got beyond the galley and saw
the animals, some caged, some tied with string, and others
just sitting around, his face fell.

“Is that all?’ he asked, with what seemed to me a

[59]

WILD ANIMALS

bit of sarcasm in the tone, and I had to reply, “Oh, no,
sir, there are more coming,” and point alongside to a
boat rowed by four men and bearing two crates of deer,
four giant Amazonian turtles, a wild-cat, half a dozen
trumpeters, and a few other things that I had been able
to pick up in the local market. The captain’s heart was
about broken, but he bore up quite well, and at the end
of four days would come out and have his morning
exercise helping me cut up pumpkins for the animals.
Later on, when the weather commenced to get cold, he
informed me that while he never dig care much for
“crows,” especially on his ship, he didn’t like to see them
die, after the work that had been spent gathering them,
so he emptied a coal bunker and we lived there the last
six days of the voyage. It was weeks before some of the
animals could be accurately identified afterward, on
account of the coal dust that had seeped on and in them
during this last week.

During the entire voyage the pale Cebus were thorns in
the sides of all of us. They would open the door of any
sort of cage that I could put them in, and they escaped
at least a dozen times. Once, while I was sitting in the
dining room, one of them came in and ran across fifteen
feet of fresh cloth on the table and hopped through a
porthole to the forward deck. Stopping only to bribe
the steward to change the tablecloth before the captain
could see the footmarks on it, I dashed out after the
monkey in time to see him go into the forecastle. Sailors
were sleeping on both sides. One of them, half awake,
asked me what I wanted. I told him the monkey was
loose again.

“So that is what just stepped on my face!” he said.

After an hour of monkey-chasing up and down the
deck of the rolling ship, I sat down exhausted for a
moment’s rest before starting the chase anew. Just then
the captain came up, his face redder than usual, and all
benevolence gone out of it. With the air of one having

[ 60 ]

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THE MONKEY TRIBE

authority he said, “I hear that that red monkey of
yours is out again. Now I want you to catch him and
lock him up right away.”

We eventually got him and locked him up, and nailed
the door of the cage, so whenever I gave him his pan of
water, it was necessary to take a hammer, pull the nail,
and after the monkey had drunk, nail the door up again.

One of the most frequent questions asked at the Zoo
concerns the care of monkeys. They must be kept out
of drafts, and dry. We feed ours twice a day and arrange
a continual variation in the diet. Carrots, potatoes,
sugar beets, onions, kale, lettuce, cabbage, and occasion-
ally bananas and apples make up their vegetable fare,
and they are given bread. Of course all monkeys get
water twice a day.

The lemurs, aptly termed by Cornish “ghosts of the
tropical forest,” since they are mostly nocturnal creatures,
make excellent subjects for the zoo. The ring-tailed
and ruffed lemurs are mainly diurnal, and the mongoose
lemur, the black lemur, and the red-fronted lemur take
to diurnal habits very easily. They are playful and gentle
as well as handsome animals though not especially blessed,
or cursed, with intelligence. Some of them live a surpris-
ing length of time in captivity, and recently Sol Stephan,
Nestor of animal men, showed me a specimen in the
Cincinnati Zoo that had lived there for twenty-eight
years, now blind, but otherwise in excellent condition.

True lemurs are all natives of Madagascar, where it is
said there is scarcely a woody copse, no matter how small,
that does not contain one or more families of them.
Some thirty species have been kept in captivity, the five
mentioned above being the commonest, but occasionally
even such a rare thing as the tarsier (Tarsius spectrum)
comes into collections. I saw one in the excellent zoologi-
cal garden at Amsterdam, where it had lived for several
months.

The commonest type of lemur in Africa is the galago,

[61]

WILD ANIMALS

a number of species of which occur, ranging in size from
a little larger than a rat to as large as a domestic cat.
They are strictly nocturnal, and their raucous call is a
characteristic sound in the African bush. The very small
ones are known in the colonies as “‘bush babies,” and are
beautiful but rather stupid pets.

A medium-sized species, Galago garnetti, occurs in
Zanzibar. We have had one of these as a house pet for
more than two years. During our short stop in Zanzibar
on the way to the mainland, we strolled to the museum,
a fascinating museum by the way, with a splendid collec-
tion of relics from Stanley, Livingstone, and Tippoo Tib.
On the way back a boy offered us a galago scarcely larger
than a gray squirrel—the price asked for both galago and
the piece of string with which he was tied being thirty
cents. We did not want any animals at the time, and
yet could not resist this one. We christened him Zanzi.
He lived half at liberty about camp until our collection
grew so that 1t was necessary to cage him. He was the first
of all our animals ashore when we arrived at Boston. I
handed him to a small girl friend on the dock, and the
first thing he did was to draw blood in three places on
her hand.

For a time in Washington he lived in a cage in the
Park, but we took him out in order to get him tame
enough to appear at a function at the Smithsonian. Each
branch of the Institution was represented by a small
exhibit. The guests at the function were to include
Presidents, Cabinet members, Regents, and Congressmen.
We assumed that these are, after all, human beings, and
human beings always like to handle animals, so Zanzi
was taken for that purpose.

A week’s experience with him in the house caused my
wife to make up our mind that he should stay there
afterward, and so he has remained ever since, with
headquarters in a small cage in a small hall. Being a
member of the family has suited him, for of a dozen gala-

[ 62]

THE MONKEY TRIBE

gos of various types brought back at the same time, he
is the only one still alive.

Zanzi is the ideal “business man’s” pet. After a short
frolic in the morning, when he is liberated from his cage,
he rolls himself up into a neat package in a newspaper
on the floor, and sleeps there until five in the evening,
when he wakes, slowly emerges, stretches and yawns, and
then cleans himself up thoroughly. The rest of the
evening, up to midnight, he is in continual action, never
tiring of exploring door jambs, chairs, or of chewing on a
zebra skin when he can get to it. He will literally spend
hours chewing on this skin. When playing by himself
he will stand erect and hop like a kangaroo on a smooth
floor, but if any stranger approaches, he becomes thoroughly
terrified, and makes for the nearest climbable object.
When he is climbing nothing frightens him. He makes a
chewing acquaintance with everything he meets. That
is the only way he can express his affection for his owner,
as he has sharp teeth and chews incessantly and pain-
fully, though he does not puncture the skin.

For a year the question as to whether or not he had
brains furnished an important point of dissension in our
household. I had always maintained that he had no
brains, and behaved more like a bat (which he resembles
very much in facial expression and in the ability to fold
up his ears) than a monkey. However, a noted animal
psychologist visited us one evening, and after psycho-
analyzing Zanzi for two hours he stated, ‘“There is some
doubt; he really does have a little intelligence.” Like
many nocturnal animals, the large protruding eyes give an
appearance of intelligence which is not merited.

He has a half dozen different calls, the usual one a
chattering not unlike that of a gray squirrel, which he
gives when one plays with him. Alone, he usually remains
silent, but at times has spells of making a loud, clucking
noise, monotonously repeated. The first time we heard
this we dashed to him, thinking there was something

[ 63 |

WILD ANIMALS

wrong. But there was nothing wrong, and to make him
stop we gave him some food. To our great surprise he
kept on clucking while he ate, and we noticed he made
the sound with his throat, and without opening his
mouth. Once he was lying on a chair while I talked
to the proprietor of a lecture bureau. I told my caller
that I had just thought of a new Joke for my lecture,
when Zanzi interrupted with a distinct “Ho! Ho!” He
hadn’t heard the joke, and he has never repeated this
call since. The commonest call is a raucous, hoarse bark.
He will often answer a cough at night by this bark, and
this is the call that one hears night after night in the bush
in Africa.

On one occasion in Africa, Charley Goss, a noted ele-
phant hunter, and I had built a platform over a water
hole, and were lying there in the hope of securing a young
rhinoceros, whose tracks we had seen about the hole.
We got on the platform early in the evening, and
maintained silence until after dark. When night fell a
galago occupying a hollow branch about eight feet above
our heads emerged for his evening prowl. Noticing
us, he gave up everything else and devoted a solid hour
to vituperation. The incessant, discordant bark at such
close quarters got on my nerves, and I wondered what
Charley was thinking of it. Eventually he rolled over
and, putting his mouth to my ear, whispered tensely,
“T do wish that bloody thing would stop.”

Zanzi is fed once a day, usually late at night, and he
eats almost anything edible. He is especially fond of
juicy fruits and vegetables, but curiously he tires of a food
very quickly. For a week he will seize his lettuce first.
The following week he will have nothing to do with
lettuce. Apples were a favorite for three days, after
which he took a week’s rest from them. By having a
variety of foods he will always eat heartily. His great
fondness is for anything fermented. Sauerkraut he will fight
for, and a half teaspoonful of wine is taken “‘mit Verstand.”

[ 64 |

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THE MONKEY TRIBE

All in all, Zanzi makes the most delightful pet we have
had in the house. Nothing could be cleaner or daintier,
or look at you with bulging eyes and fold up its ears so
feelingly, and at the same time be such a quiet, inoffensive
pet. He reverts to the primitive only occasionally, when
we give him a saucer of live meal worms to eat. Then he
becomes pure savage, and incidentally forgets all his
table manners, as he hurriedly chews and gulps what is
to him the daintiest of dainties.

We have had only one potto in the National collection,
(Perodicticus potto), a gift from Harvey Firestone, Jr.
It had been captured on a plantation in Liberia. It is
like a miniature bear, five inches long, with monkey
paws except for a curious spinelike claw on the hind foot,
bright eyes, and a mean disposition greatly out of propor-
tion to its small size. We kept it for a time in our house
for observation. It spent an entire evening exploring
one chair; each step was made slowly and cautiously,
and the only really swift movement of which it seemed
capable was striking to bite. It suggested a slow picture
of an ordinary lemur. J. L. Buck, who has spent years
collecting animals in West Africa, and who is a keen
observer, tells me that he has seen only one sociable
potto of the many kept as pets there. At the same time,
it is a beautiful little golden-brown creature and com-
pletely inoffensive. On account of its weird structure the
potto attracted attention when discovered, and a de-
scription of it published in 1704 by Bosman, i its discov-
erer, is far stranger than the animal itself:

Some writers affirm, that when this creature has climbed
upon a Tree, he deat not leave it until he hath eaten up
not only the Fruit, but the leaves entirely; and then
descends fat and in very good case in order to get up into
another Tree; but before his slow pace can compass this
he becomes as poor and lean as ’tis possible to imagine;
and if the tree be high, or the way anything distant, and
he meets nothing on his journey, he invariably dies of

[65 |

WILD ANIMALS

Hunger betwixt one tree and the other. Thus ’tis repre-
sented by others, but I will not undertake for the truth
of it, though the Negroes are apt to believe something
like it.

This is such a horrible ugly Creature that I don’t
believe anything besides so very disagreeable is to be
found on the whole Earth; the Print is a very lively
description of it. Its fore feet are very like Hands, the
Head, strangely disproportionately large; that from which
this Print was taken was of a pale Mouse color, but it
was then very young, and his skin yet smooth, but when
old, as I saw one at Elmina in the year 1699, ’tis red and
covered with a sort of Hair as thick set as Flocks of Wool.
I know nothing more of this animal than that ’tis im-
possible to look on him without Horrour, and that he
hath nothing very particular but his odious Ugliness.

We could not better close this long section on the
monkey family than by two choice tales of the tribe
culled from the long experience of Mr. Blackburne:

Some years ago a large male bonnet monkey (Macacus
sinicus), adorned by earrings worn in pierced ears, was
presented to the Park. The monkey was a mischievous
animal and delighted in tormenting a spotted hyena
that occupied an adjoining cage. One of his chief sources
of amusement was to push stiff pieces of straw through
the keyhole in the door between the two cages, which
never failed to irritate the hyena. The latter invariably
reacted in the same manner; in a rage he would bite the
offending straws and pull them through the keyhole.
When the monkey tired of this method of tantalizing his
neighbor, he would try another prank. Reaching through
the bars of his own cage and between those of the ad-
joining one, he would tap the hyena on the nose and
skillfully draw his arm away just in time to avoid being
bitten. This was a real feat because the monkey could
not see the hyena, as the partition between the two

[ 66 |

THE MONKEY TRIBE

cages was of solid boards. It is the most daring thing I
have ever seen a monkey do, and constitutes a rare
example of judgment. The monkey evidently thoroughly
enjoyed it, because he made it a daily practice.

A Philippine macaque once forced a Brazil nut, small
end first, into his cheek pouch, where it remained for
several days. When I became aware of it I tried to remove
the nut, but found I could not do so without making an
incision. We finally performed the operation, stitched
up the incision, and the monkey began to recover. One
day he removed all of the stitches, and amused himself
and his cage mates by passing blades of hay and peanuts
through the pouch and cheek. Thurston’s magic never
caused more astonishment than did this monkey magi-
cian’s among his audience. When the macaque was
removed to quiet quarters, the incision restitched, and
the patient given a soft diet, the wound soon healed.

[ 67 |

CHAPTER V
THE’ BIG GATS

Durinc the forty years of the National Zoological Park’s
existence there have been fifty-one lions in the collec-
tion, some on short loans, others as permanent deposits.
Thirteen years for one and fifteen and a half years for
another constitute the records for longevity. The lion
attains maturity at about five years of age. At eight he
is in the prime of life, and after that steadily declines.
It is interesting to note that at the zoo in Dublin, famous
for its success in raising lions, the record for longevity
in a female is eleven years.

Nineteen baby lions have been born in the National
Zoological Park. Unfortunately, a number of these sprang
from very poor stock. Caste exists among lions as in
other animals, and for a number of years ours were
distinctly “low brow.”’ However, the mayor and citizens
of Johannesberg in South Africa presented to President
Coolidge a pair of cubs, and these are growing up into
magnificent lions.

One of Mr. Blackburne’s fondest memories of animals
centers about the first lion that ever came to the National
Zoo. He tells the story of that magnificent animal here:

Our first lion, a male, was purchased from Mrs. Susan
E. Bebout of Alderson, West Virginia, September 12,
1891. He was then about one year old and a very fine and
tame specimen. He had had the liberty of the lower
floor of his owner’s house. Windows were protected by
iron bars, as the neighbors had protested against his
presence and were quite uneasy regarding their safety.

[ 68 ]

THE BIG CATS

He also had the run of the back yard where the fencing
was made a safe height. His playmate was a common
female cat which he frequently picked up in his mouth
and carried about the house. This was done with the
greatest of care, the cat offering no resistance whatever.
The cat’s head, hind legs, and tail were about all that could
be seen while in the lion’s mouth. At times he would
lift the cat up on an old-fashioned bed and there they
would play. The mattress, the quilt, and the bed posts
were badly clawed. This was the lion’s bed.

This lion had been given to Mrs. Bebout the day it
was born, by the proprietor of a small traveling show then
exhibiting in Alderson. The showman wanted to dispose
of the cub because otherwise he would have had to take
the lioness out of the act to care for her youngster, and
so stop the performance of the lions.

Mrs. Bebout fed the cub, which had not as yet nursed,
from a bottle containing condensed milk. She also put
the lion in a box with the cat who was nursing some
newly-born kittens. The cat objected at first but finally
consented to try caring for it. The cat licked and cleaned
it and kept it warm, but could not feed it as her teats
were much too small for the lion cub to nurse, although
he tried so hard he clawed her belly. Then the cat would
leave the box to escape this rough treatment, so the
bottle was offered and its contents taken freely. The
lion was very fond of the cat and very gentle with her
when they played together. It worried him greatly
when she climbed over the back-yard fence and disap-
peared. The lion would then pace the yard looking up
at the top of the fence or stand upright against it, moaning
constantly. This he would keep up until the cat returned.
Sometimes when the cat would be gone for some hours,
the lion worried so that it got on his owner’s nerves and
she would go and look the cat up in order to restore
peace and quiet. When his playmate finally returned the
lion showed his affection by licking it and moaning and

[ 69 |

WILD ANIMALS

following it about the yard or house. On one occasion
the lion was placed on exhibition at a country fair grounds.
He mourned and refused his rations, so it was thought
best to take him home. However, Mrs. Bebout thought
of the cat and hurried home to get it. As soon as his
companion arrived, the lion cheered up. He ate and was
perfectly satisfied to continue to fill out the contract,
earning ten dollars a day for his mistress.

A sign nailed to the fence in front of the Bebout house
read, ““1o¥ to see the lion.” I do not think enough money
was taken to supply the milk and beef the lion consumed;
hence his sale.

On his arrival at the Park, he took up quarters in a
cage where he was greatly admired by the public. He
was so gentle and affectionate that he allowed any one to
pat and fondle him and he remained tame when he
became adult and throughout his life in the Park. This
lion would leave his meat and come to the bars of his
cage when I called him, put his paws out and draw my
arm to the bars without exposing his claws. He was the
only lion I ever knew to do such a thing.

While lions are being shot continually in Africa, I
think it very reasonable to say that they will probably
exist in captivity long after they have been exterminated
in their native wilds, considering the number being bred
in zoos throughout the world. I have a friend who
journeyed from the Cape to Cairo without hearing a lion
roar during his entire trip. Another friend spent some six
months in South and East Africa, and the only lions he
saw or heard were in the Pretoria Zoo.

However, the lion does maintain himself, and most
abundantly, in certain places, and even during our short
sojourn in Tanganyika we made contact with them five
times. When we were crossing a low mountain pass
between Kondoa Irangi and Umbugwe we came to a
village with a mission house. Coming up the hill we met a

[70 ]

TEE BIG CATS

Catholic missionary followed by eight perspiring natives
carrying an organ for his services that afternoon. He was
from Ufiumi, and we asked about game in his section,
intending, perhaps, to go over and try to make a catch
there. But he told us that the game had been driven out
of the immediate neighborhood by lions, and that a pair
of these had become man eaters.

We did not see our first lion. We were in camp near
Magi-motu and our boys had gathered into little groups
in the vicinity of camp. They were having their evening
porridge, when suddenly a lion gave a grunting cough
very close to camp. The impressive thing about it was
the speed, and yet the dignity, with which the boys
walked up to our camp and huddled in larger groups,
near the tents and the guns.

Several days later George and I came over the crest
of a hill and looked into a little clearing where a herd of
impalla antelopes were gathered. We stopped to watch
them, and observed that they moved forward together
quickly for about forty feet at a time. Then they would
stop, and then all take another spurt forward, apparently
watching us all the time. One of the boys whispered,
“Simba!” and pointed to a spot some fifty feet away from
them, where a lion, evidently a youngster, though with
a good mane, was trying to creep up on the herd. As
he would approach a few feet, they would all move away.
The one thing that stands out in memory about the lion
is his tail, which was switching from side to side, and
though he was more than a hundred yards from me, I
fancied I could hear it hit his sides. Then the impallas,
sizing up our party again, disappeared into the bush,
leaving the lion alone. He looked in our direction, and
George whispered, “‘Here’s your chance for a lion.” Every-
body who comes to Africa wants to shoot a lion, though
I don’t see why. So I fired—and missed him. He ran
away from us a hundred yards, and then stopped, and
I fired again and missed. Then, at the edge of a clump

eer

WILD ANIMALS

of brush, he stopped once more and I made my last miss,
after which he disappeared. At the time I was shooting
I suffered two conflicting emotions, equally strong. I
wanted to see a lion charge,and I did hope this one
wouldn’t charge. Anyway, I was able to add “lion” to
the list of big game I have missed.

At another time, walking in savannalike country in the
early morning, we came across a party of five, evidently
returning from a night’s hunting. George threw up his
gun and the cartridge missed fire, for which we were very
glad, because it is said that a female lion will always
charge when wounded, while not more than fifty per cent
of the males do. And this party contained three sizable
females. We were on the open ground close to them, with
little possibility of stopping a charge before one of our party
had been clawed. They all trotted off, the largest female
behind the others, and looking at us as she disappeared.

Our last encounter with a lion had a touch of humor
to it. We were in Tula, and had been catching wart hogs
in nets. Four of them seemed enough, so we asked about
bush pigs, and the natives told us that there were plenty
in a certain canebrake close to camp. In the morning
we went to the brake, put up our long line of native nets,
and then sent from either end of it an encircling party.
Charley Goss and I took up our position behind the
nets with lariats in hand, waiting for what the natives
would drive into it. The cane was higher than the boys’
heads, though we could see their spears projecting above.
One by one they dropped off the line at intervals of five
or ten feet. The rest went on, until eventually they had
a circle inclosing the high cane. Then the line moved
forward, closing in with the usual driving cry, “Hia!
Hia!’ We waited patiently to see what would emerge
from the cane, when suddenly a lion grunted, apparently
right in the center of the circle. We could not see
the boys, but noticed that the spear tips that had
been in an orderly line resolved themselves into two

[72]

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masses, one to the right and one to the left, and the
yelling became more concerted and impressively louder.
Presently two black gobs of boys emerged. ‘The lion,
of course, ran away. Then we heard some shrieking, and
two natives came out assisting a third, who appeared
badly scratched about his face. His mind must have
been on something else than the drive, for he had not heard
the lion, and not noticing that the other boys had hur-
riedly massed together, continued to advance by himself
waving his spear, and yelling “Hia!’ He did not see
the lion, but a female buffalo, probably a young one,
sleeping in the cane, was awakened and frightened by
the noise. Escaping, she hit him in passing, as it were,
and went on. He fell to the ground in the cane, and the
scratches were simply due to the fall. He came to me
and asked permission to go back to the camp to die.
On his right breast was a little round wound to the center
of a rib. Above or below the rib it might have been
serious, but it was trivial, especially considering how
close the man had been to actual death from encountering
two wild animals. We disinfected the wound and sent
the boy back to camp, and that evening after dinner was
over he came to me with his chief as interpreter and
wanted to know if I did not think that such a wound
received in my service was worthy of a bit of baksheesh.
Three shillings made him happy, and I suppose the chief
let him keep part of it for himself.

One day, while at Dodoma, we received a telegram
from a storekeeper up the railroad line, who had just
bought from a native two tiny nursling lions. The
chances of keeping these alive in the field were slight,
considering all the other young animals we had to care
for, but I telegraphed, asking the price. He replied,
“Am offered sixty. Will accept eighty pounds.” As
these same baby lions would be worth about $50 each at
New York City, we did not reply, and heard afterwards
that both had died within the next few days.

[73 |

WILD ANIMALS

We came across no young lions at all on our trip. Yet
the lion is very abundant, and even on the coast, at Dar-
es-Salaam, where the Government maintains an experi-
mental stock farm, pens for cattle have been made lion-
proof, ever since a lion jumped over a fence one night
and killed eight cows.

Once at Arusha a Boer came into the hotel and informed
me that he had a six-months’-old lion at his farm. We
bargained for it over a stein of beer. The animal was to
be in good condition, and I was to pay so much; so he
sent the boys to the farm to bring back the animal.
After they had gone he was suddenly reminded that the
animal “is hurt a little in one leg, but will soon get well.”
Some hours later the boys brought it in, a pitiful specimen,
its foreleg shot through the elbow, swollen out of all
proportion and gangrenous. The owner tried to persuade
me that it was only a slight wound, and in two or three
days would be all right. I could not see it that way, so
we parted bad friends all around.

Mr. Blackburne, as is noted elsewhere in this book,
first gained intimate acquaintance with animals in the
circus. He was the lion tamer for Barnum and Bailey
and in this rdle adventures befell him such as few men
have had. One such adventure is reported here in his
own words:

During the summer of 1889, while the Barnum and
Bailey Circus was traveling through the United States,
preparations were going on to transport the show to
London for the winter season of 1889-1890. The steam-
ship Fernesia was chartered and all the circus parapher-
nalia was landed at a Brooklyn dock, where the task of
loading the ship began. The running gear of all cages
was removed, and the cages, containing the animals,
were hoisted by derricks and lowered into the hold.
Then the horses, both ring and draft animals, were lifted
in crates and they, too, were lowered into the hold.
There a separate narrow stall was provided for each horse,

[74]

THE BIG CATS

with six inches of tanbark underfoot. They were haltered
up tight to prevent them from lying down during the
voyage, and for the first three days they suffered con-
siderably.

The elephants were the last to be loaded. The large
ones walked up a gangplank and each was chained
separately into a heavily built stall built on the aft
mid-deck. Some twelve smaller elephants, however,
were lifted in slings to a height of about thirty feet, and
lowered into the hold. This proved the most exciting
task in the loading of the steamer. As the derrick jerked
up each elephant, he struggled to free himself, and
screamed at the top of his voice, while all those waiting
their turn joined in. I am sure no lot of wild elephants
ever screamed louder, nor were any so humiliated, roughly
handled, or frightened. At last the ship sailed, with the
greatest cargo of large-sized wild animals that had ever
crossed the Atlantic.

We sailed by the southern route to avoid rough weather,
and after ten days tied up at the Prince Albert docks in
London. The horses came off first, and were led into the
freight sheds, where they found a good bed of straw
already prepared for them. The voyage had made them
so stiff they could hardly walk or stand, and in the sheds
they lay down and rolled, moaned, and grunted. That
night they had their first real sleep for two weeks. They
got two days of rest while the ship was unloading, after
which they hauled the rolling stock to the Olympia
Building, where the circus was to exhibit.

After a few weeks for the preparation of the building
and rehearsals, the show opened, and for three months
gave two performances daily to crowded houses. About
ten days before Christmas, Mr. Bailey said he wanted the
animals in the dens to be trained by the holidays to per-
form while the dens were drawn around the hippodrome
track. Some of the large cats had never been trained,
so this seemed very short notice. However, Mr. Bailey’s

[75]

WILD ANIMALS

word was law, and we went to work twice daily to teach
the animals some easy tricks.

I had a den with four adult lions, two of which were
trained. The other two had been purchased just before
sailing, and no one had ever been in the cage with them.
As a preliminary, we had to cut their claws, so we put a
stout collar on each of the untrained animals and tied
them to opposite corners of the cage by a chain, which
was short enough to prevent the animals from reaching
me as I sat on a stool midway between them. After
their claws were cut, training began. My weapons con-
sisted of a broom, a hickory stick two feet long, and a
rawhide whip. I also had with me my pipe and some
tobacco. As I sat on the stool watching the lions trying
to slip their collars or break the chains I would allow
smoke coils to settle around them. This seemed to
intimidate them, and at length they settled down to
look me over carefully and watch the smoke. In the
meantime I would talk to them kindly, assuring them that
no harm would be done them as long as they behaved.
The next step was to attempt to brush them with the
broom, which they naturally resented. When they at.
tempted to strike with their paws, I gave them a few taps
on the knuckles with the stick. Then they tried to bite
the broom, and were given a few taps on the tongue with
the rawhide. The nose, tongue and knuckles are the weak
points of the great cats, and they soon learn that their
trainer knows it. After a few days these two lions stood
up at a word of command, resting their forefeet on the
crossbar at the front of the cage, allowing me to brush
them with the broom. They did not enjoy this, as their
expressions revealed, but they submitted nevertheless.

That was as far as the lessons could go while the
animals were chained. The next step was to teach them
to jump over a hurdle or gate of three slats. This they
soon accomplished, and the two trained lions jumped
back and forth with them. Rehearsals continued twice

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daily for a week, and considering the short time allowed
them, they performed very well.

During rehearsals there was nothing to excite the
animals, so I wondered how they would react to the music
and the motion of the cage as it was being hauled around
the hippodrome track. At the first performance my
attendant pushed the gate into the cage, which frightened
the lions. When I commanded them to jump, one of the
new animals ran into the hurdle gate, breaking the center
slat. His head went through, and as he attempted to
draw back, the ends of the broken board became lodged
back of his jaw bones, preventing him from freeing him-
self. I was sitting astride the gate, which the animal
carried with him as he plunged to the end of the cage.
There he could not turn, so he backed to the other end,
with the gate still fast about his neck. This was repeated
several times, when he at last succeeded in freeing himself.
In the middle of the roof of the cage there was a ventilator
about eighteen inches square, covered with iron bars,
and it was this that saved me. As the lion rushed from
end to end of the cage with the gate about his neck, I
grasped the bars in the ventilator and swung myself
upward. During the commotion the other lions were
greatly frightened, and huddled in their corner, occasion-
ally leaving it to jump over the hurdle as it moved up
and down the cage. My own position was not an enviable
one, and I had no time to consider the audience, which
must have been somewhat puzzled, no doubt believing
that this acrobatic performance was part of the show.

At one performance the den stopped in front of the
royal box while the lions were doing their tricks. I
glanced up, and as the cage passed on I bowed to, the
occupants of the box, among whom was the Prince of

Wales, afterward Edward VII.

The first tiger to come to the National Zoological
Park had belonged to a circus. It had become so mangy

[77]

WILD ANIMALS

as to be unfit for exhibition, so the circus presented
it to the United States Government. Mr. Blackburne
gives the following account of it:

One day while Dr. Frank Baker was Superintendent of
the National Zoological Park a representative of the Adam
Forepaugh Circus called to offer an adult Bengal tiger
on temporary deposit. The Park’s animal collection
was very meager, and the offer of a tiger, even on deposit,
was an event. We arranged a spacious cage, and on June
II, 1893, the tiger arrived. To our great disappointment
the fine, sleek animal that we had pictured when we
accepted him turned out to be the thinnest, poorest
specimen I had ever seen, but worst of all, he was a
victim of sarcoptic mange. He was not fit for exhibition,
yet the only place we had for him was the specially pre-
pared exhibition cage. My first impulse was to shoot him,
to prevent a spread of the mange to the other animals, but —
I decided to try to effect acure. Accordingly, half a buck-
etful of sulphur and oil was prepared, and climbing to the
top of his cage I succeeded, with a tin cup, in pouring the
mixture over him as he lay on the floor. He got a com-
plete bath, since the liquid which did not fall directly
upon him was absorbed from the floor. I administered
this treatment twice weekly for three weeks, when three
additional treatments were given at intervals of a week.
The cure was complete. As his appetite had not suffered
(he ate twelve pounds of beef daily) he soon gained in
weight, and at the end of three months he was a splendid
exhibition animal.

With advancing years our tiger’s teeth suffered, and
this resulted in frequent attacks of indigestion. On one
occasion he became bloated, groaned with agony, and
was unable to stand up. Castor-oil treatment was indi-
cated, but feeding castor oil to a tiger is a problem. Again
we resorted to the top of the cage. Through the bars
I annoyed the animal by dragging the lash of a carriage
whip over his mouth and head. This he naturally re-

[78 ]

THE BIG CATS

sented, and bit viciously at the whip. To his great sur-
prise he suddenly found his mouth full of castor oil, with
the remainder of a quart over his head and fore paws,
which he proceeded to lick in an effort to become clean
once more. Two hours later he was entirely well. Some
time after this he was operated upon for a bursa on the
elbow.

On January 20, 1906, the tiger was chloroformed. He
was then about thirty years old, and had lost the use
of his hind legs. An autopsy discovered a 46-caliber
bullet in his shoulder. We do not know whether he was
shot in the wild state, or in captivity before coming to
the Park. We estimated, though, that his residence in
the Park had prolonged his life by at least twelve years.

Since that time we have had ten other Bengal tigers,
including four born at the National Zoological Park.
Old Ben, the single specimen of this species that we have
at present, has been here for fourteen years.

In 1918 we received two specimens of the long-haired
variety, the Siberian or Manchurian tiger, the first we
had had. They proved a magnificent pair, and have
produced twenty-three young since their arrival, only
six of which were brought to maturity. The mother,
after nine years in captivity, had to be shot. She neg-
lected her first litter but later on she took good care of
the young, so we were able to send specimens from this
family to the zoos in New York, Philadelphia, and Balti-
more. The father is still in fine condition, after more than
ten years of captivity.

The tiger is one of the finest animals that lives. In
the cage he is the most snobbish of all aristocrats, his
contempt for those who jostle in front of his bars being
nothing less than magnificent. He is dignity itself.
He condescends to no boyish antics to attract attention
as does the chimpanzee, to no begging for sweets as do the
bear and the elephant, and to no pacific, philosophic

[79]

WILD ANIMALS

acceptance of fate such as the hippopotamus displays.
When he does get into action he means business. You can
not set him roaring by making faces or shaking your fist
at him, and you can not win his favor by a stick of candy.
He is above rage or gratitude, and he looks right past you.
However, Ben loves one of his keepers and hates another,
and is unmistakably very fond of Mr. Blackburne, speak-
ing to him with a grunt when he comes in sight. I tried
for two years to make friends with him, and at the end
of that time I was rewarded one morning by a grunt of
recognition. This is occasionally given now, but never
with the regularity with which he greets those who
attend him daily, and often I am unable to attract his
attention at all.

The tiger is especially hardy in temperate climates. He
lives and breeds well in captivity, and can stand outdoor
weather unless winters are very severe. Quite different
from the lion, he loves to swim, and when we had the
space to give one a cage with a large tank in it, he would
disport in the water. Fed ten to sixteen pounds of beef
a day, according to his size, with liver on Mondays and
Thursdays, and water twice a day, he is one of the easier
animals to keep.

Sometimes adult tigers are captured in traps and sold
into captivity. These find their way to circuses, and
have been trained. One of the American circuses pos-
sesses a cage of ten. Their keeper, a very superior trainer,
makes them perform as another man would spaniels.
They jump over him, through hoops, walk a pole in lieu
of a tight rope. In the arena they make a ferocious
looking group of beasts; in the menagerie tent, confined
in their small cages like so many kittens, the keeper can
put his hand into their mouths and rub their teeth.
After his act one day, when he came out to sit with me in
the audience during the show, he complained bitterly
about their tranquillity. I told him truthfully that his
was the best tiger act I had ever seen. He shrugged his

[ 80 ]

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shoulders and asked, “What can a man do? J tell the
owner every day that I can not make a show with ten
tame tigers. I must have five more mean ones to add
to the act.”

Accounts of catching adult tigers in the East Indies are
_ plentiful. The lair of the animal is located in some dense
tangle of cane and creeper thicket where he spends most
of his time in alert slumber. Near a watering place,
where footprints show that he comes to drink, a bottle-
shaped pit is excavated, ten feet deep, ten feet in diameter
at the base, but only seven feet across at the top. This
is covered with a network of cane and bamboo, and a
kid tied in the center of the frail cover to advertise its
presence by bleating. Then the trapper waits patiently,
it may be for days, until the tiger comes upon the goat.
He stops close to it, and then with one powerful leap from
the concealing brush lands on the little goat. The plat-
form gives way, and tiger and goat go headlong into the
bottom of the pit, from which there is no escape because
of the overhanging walls which allow no foothold. Some-
times a contraption like a gigantic mousetrap is placed
at the bottom of the pit, the door of which snaps shut
after the tiger has fallen through. Then the trap, tiger
and all, is pulled up with ropes and taken to the nearest
settlement. Another method of getting the tiger out of the
pit is preferred by East Indians. A net of rattan ropes,
ten feet square, is thrown into the pit. The frenzied
tiger attacks it, biting and tearing. One after the other,
he pokes his paws through the meshes. He becomes
more and more tangled in the net until he has succeeded
in binding himself head and paws. Then the trapper
can descend into the pit and pass ropes around the tired
body. The animal is hauled up, placed in a cage on wheels,
and driven away. Box traps, also, are used, but the pit
method is the most frequent one. It seems better adapted
to the habits of the tiger. Sometimes the newly cap-
tured beast is actually led to market. A stout rattan

[81]

WILD ANIMALS

collar is put around the neck and then twenty-foot ropes
are attached to each side. Each rope is manned by a
group of hunters who pull against each other in a sort of
tug of war.

The tiger has been trapped in much the same manner
since the beginning of civilization. He had a prominent
place in the menageries of Indian and Chinese monarchs
before the Christian era and first appeared in Europe
about the time of the eastern conquests of Alexander,
when the city of Athens received a tiger as a gift from
the king of Syria. The animal was well-known to the
Romans. It was most dreaded of all the beasts that
appeared in the arena.

A question often asked the office of the Zoo is, “If an
adult lion and tiger were to fight, which would win?”
As we try to keep our adult lions and tigers in the Zoo
from fighting, we did not know until in the records of the
Roman arena we found that the tiger was usually vic-
torious in such a combat.

The thought of a tiger escaping is one that gives pause to
the man who has them in charge, though, curiously, in
the number of instances of escapes recorded, no great
harm has been done. A story is told of an English animal
dealer, who found one of his tigers that had cost him con-
siderable money and out of which,;he expected to make a
gratifying profit, loose in the alley in front of his ware-
house. In his excitement he straddled it and rode it back
into the barn.

Sanyal records one instance where two tigers escaped,
through the carelessness of some native workmen who
had left a gate open. He describes the incident as follows:

The keepers, who were on the roof of the house engaged
in raising the gratings to let the animals into their inner
dens, first noticed the escape. The officers rushed to the
opposite end of the building to verify the fact, and having
ascertained its truth beat a rapid retreat towards the
nearest bird house, and thence towards the entrance gate,

[ 82 ]

THE: BIG CATS

discussing the steps to be taken for keeping the animals
within the garden enclosure during the night and securing
them, if possible, in the morning. It was decided to
keep the roadside lamps of the garden burning and to
maintain perfect silence inside the garden, so as not to
disturb or terrify the beasts. The news of the escape
soon spread in the neighbourhood; the shops were closed
and the bazars presented an unusually deserted ap-
pearance early that night. Meanwhile at the request of
the Commissioner of Police, to whom a report had been
conveyed, a company of sepoys of the regiment stationed
in the immediate neighbourhood was turned out to form
a cordon round the garden, with orders to continue
shouting and yelling the whole night. This plan suc-
ceeded admirably. The tigers remained inside the garden
and abstained, while at large, from killing or molesting
a single animal, although they had ample opportunity of
doing so. This unexpected moderation on their part may
be ascribed to their freedom from hunger, as they had
been fed immediately before the escape, or more probably
to their astonishment and alarm at the novelty of their
situation. In their rambles one of the tigers twice passed
quite close to the Superintendent of the garden, who was
seated in the small ticket office made of durmah mats
only—there was no entrance lodge then—to keep himself
informed of the movements of the beasts, with the help
of the two keepers watching them from the top of the
Burdwan House. ... About midnight both the tigers
retired inside the walled enclosure. . . . Hopes were
then entertained of securing them in the morning, and,
everything considered, the position of the house at one
corner of the enclosure with sliding doors, the height of
the wall (7 feet as it was then) and the nature of the
beasts, there would have been a good chance of capturing
them. The Commissioner of Police, however, decided
in the interests of the public safety to run no further risks,

[ 83 ]

WILD ANIMALS

marshalled his forces on the roof of the Burdwan House
at § a. m., and at the third volley the beasts fell.

We have had twenty-one leopards in the Park, mostly
from Africa, and the longest life record is fifteen years.
An account of the first specimen we had is given by
Mr. Blackburne:

The first leopard in the collection was a female, pre-
sented by J. Dorsy Mohun, United States Consul at

Booma, Congo Free State, Africa, November 16, 1894.

This was a gentle animal and a very beautiful one, except
for a deformed tail, which curled against the right hind
leg in the form of a complete hoop, and which could not
be straightened, even forcibly. Because of this deformity
walking was somewhat difficult and quite frequently
while lying down the leopard’s hind leg would become
entangled in the curve of the tail. She found it hard to
disentangle because of the tenacity with which the tail
clung to her belly.

On March 4, 1897, we received a male leopard from the
Barnum and Bailey Circus, in exchange for another
animal. The pair got along amicably together and bred.
In August, when the kittens were due, we met with dis-
appointment. The female was unable to deliver her young
and she died of peritonitis on August 7, 1897.

The male leopard was a large, ferocious specimen,
whose disposition the circus found too uncertain to permit
of training. He never missed an opportunity to strike
at us through the bars as we passed in front of his cage.

One day while in my office in the lion house I heard
shrieks. There were no watchmen in the building, so I
dashed down stairs and found that two elderly ladies and a
child, who had apparently failed to notice an eight-foot door
for visitors, had entered a narrow service door back of
the guard rail, and were in front of the leopard cage, com-
pletely paralyzed with fright, with the leopard trying his
best to reach them. I hastily put the child through the

[ 84 ]

THE BIG CATS

guard rail and escorted one of the women to safety,
cautioning the one who remained to stand perfectly still
until I could return for her. As I started back for the
second woman, the first one, apparently hysterical, fol-
lowed me in again, and the leopard got his claws in her
cape and pulled her close to the bars. As she fell I snatched
her out of the cape and put her over the guard rail. After
a great deal of hysteria the three visitors went away, to
return an hour or so later, considerably more composed,
demanding that the Government replace the cape which
the leopard had completely ruined.

“Madam,” I replied, “I am sorry this happened, but
you are extremely lucky to escape with the loss of your
cape.

On our recent expedition to Tanganyika we caught five
full-grown East African leopards in the kopjes near
Dodoma. Leopards are still abundant throughout the
continent, but are very seldom seen. George, our white
hunter, had been in the field in Tanganyika for three
years and had not once seen any but trapped leopards.
Because of their depredations on the native stock, and
also for the value of their hides, they are continually
trapped and killed. A little compound with a long, nar-
row entrance is built, and a goat tied on the inside. The
leopard creeps into the narrow passageway to get at him,
presses against a string, which discharges a gun, pointing
directly downward and usually heavily loaded with shot.
Many are killed in this way.

We had taken with us a number of unassembled crates
for the shipment of animals, and used these like glorified
rabbit traps, but baited with goats instead of cabbage.
We would build a heavy Joma, or corral, of thorn strongly
roofed over, also with thorn, and tether a goat on the
inside. Then we placed the box traps against the corral
so that the goat was visible through iron bars at one end.

The entrance end had a sliding door pulled up. Our in-
[85]

WILD ANIMALS

genious Freddy fastened a string to this and extended
the string over the branch of a tree and down inside the
cage to a simple wooden treadle. The leopard would hear
the goat bleat. From its tracks in the morning we could
tell that he had gone round and round, seeking some way
to get at it, and then he would come into the cage and
touch the treadle. In the morning the boys would bring
into camp what I shall always believe to be the angriest
leopards I have known, for in addition to suddenly finding
themselves trapped, each one had the tip of his tail pinched
by the door dropping on it. The doors were bolted, and
the traps served as cages in which the animals lived until
they arrived in Washington. One died shortly after of
pneumonia. The other two pairs are still in most excellent
condition, and both mated and bred the first year in
captivity, each producing a litter of two young.

In a kopje near Dodoma there lives a family of leopards
which is partly albino. The district commissioner showed
me a skin of one of these spotted with large patches of
pure white. This is a most unusual variation in the
leopard, and I have never seen one alive. Black leopards
are very rare in Africa, but not at all uncommon in
eastern Asia. We have had two in the collection. The one
living here at present was formerly a performer in a
circus. I found it in the hands of an animal dealer in
New York. In ancient bachelor days, when my fiancée
accompanied me on shopping excursions for animals
among the dealers, it was a beautiful, sleek leopard, and
so gentle that I was able to open its mouth with my
hands and examine its teeth before buying. The fiancée
prepared a poetic name for it, and we shipped it on to
Washington, but the day after, when I arrived, I found
that the keepers had already christened it “Nig,” which
name it still bears. Nig was very tame for a time, and
still appears to be, but is tricky. At first whenever I came
to the cage she would rub against the bars to have her
sides scratched. It is often safe to pet cats, but usually

[ 86 ]

THE BIG CATS

best to do so from the side. I learned this from Nig, one
day, when I started to pet her as she faced me. She
reached out with one foot, caught a scarf around my
neck and tore it from me.

Because of their lightning quickness of movement leop-
ards are more dangerous than the other big cats. Several
times in the Park visitors who reached over too far have
been scratched. One female leopard here some years ago
was especially adept at seizing hats and umbrellas waved
by visitors in order to attract her attention. Once she
succeeded in demolishing a beautiful fur boa.

The Park has been fortunate in having two specimens
of the rare snow leopard which comes from the Himalayas.
One of these lived six and a half years, and became a
great favorite with the visiting public. This had been
shipped to a dealer in New York, from India, and then
forwarded to Washington. It seems that there had been
too many animals in the cargo for the keeper to keep
careful watch on them. The snow leopard was transferred
from her traveling crate to a larger crate to get exercise
for a day or two. Then the traveling crate was cleaned
out and in it were two baby snow leopards that had
been born there and died unnoticed by the attendant.
The mother animal was shipped on, but developed such a
very bad cold that the dealer actually remitted $200 of
the price. She eventually got well, however. She was
playful and quite tame, though very quick and tricky,
and ready to strike. She would come and put her head
against the wire mesh of the cage to have it stroked. After
she died we secured another, a young one, but pneumonia
carried it off in a few months. The softest in color and
the most graceful in form of all the leopards, and with
a long bushy tail, it is one of the most attractive of the
cats.

Several varieties of the leopard’s small American cousin,
the ocelot, have been represented in our collection by
thirty-one specimens, six years being the longest that any

[ 87 ]

WILD ANIMALS

of them lived. Three attained this age, one of which, by
the way, was a present from His Excellency, Dr. J. Paes
de Carbalho, Governor of the State of Para, Brazil,
through Mr. Kennedy, the United States Consul there.
Doctor Carbalho seemed to pick animals that would live,
for another specimen he sent, an anaconda, lived in the
Park for over twenty-nine years.

As a kitten, the ocelot is playful and tames easily, but
there always comes a day when it scratches, and then the
zoo falls heir to it. This is true of most feline pets. I once
tried to buy a small kitten belonging to a merchant on
the west coast of Mexico. The owner would not sell it
because “‘the baby loves it so.”” By good fortune I was
able to remain in the town for some days, waiting. One
evening I was told that the kitten had scratched the baby
so I strolled past the house. The merchant called me in
and the deal was consummated right there. This I con-
sider good applied psychology.

Two of the ocelots at present in our collection have been
pets, and one of them, though an adult, is still fairly tame.
Another, an adult trapped in Texas, is by far the fiercest
cat we have in the collection.

Of the myriads of small cats that come into the market
from time to time, and are exhibited in zoos, the yagua-
rundi (Felis yagouaroundt) is one of the most desired be-
cause of its grace. Somewhat larger than a house cat,
long and slender, continually in motion, it is very popular
with the visitors, while naturalists like to argue as to
whether the specimen before them is a yaguarundi or an
eyra cat (Felis eyra). Probably both belong to the same
species, which varies in color from black to red. It is
known in Central America by the not very good name
of “dog of the mountain.”

As in other commodities, there are sometimes bargain
sales in cats, and on one occasion we secured for $65 one
specimen each of three rare species: a flat-headed cat from
Siam (4ilurin planiceps), a marbled cat (Felis marmorata),

[ 88 ]

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THE BIG CATS

and a beautiful clouded leopard (Felis nebulosa). Two of
them died shortly, but the clouded leopard remains with
us still, after six years. It is much darker in color than
other specimens we have seen, and probably after its
death will be found to be a species distinct from the
splendid specimen now living at the Philadelphia Zoo.

The jaguar, which takes the place of the leopard in this
hemisphere, is quite similar to it, but heavier in body
and with much larger head and feet. One specimen lived
in the Park as long as thirteen years; another lived nine
years, when it had to be put out of the way on account
of infirmities due to old age. Ten have been in the Park
during its history.

Though the jaguar abounds in parts of South America,
it does not come into the market nearly as often as do
leopards, because animal catching and marketing have not
been systematized in South America as they have in
Africa and Asia.

Of the three cheetahs that we have had in our Zoo, one
pair is most notable. Mr. Blackburne tells about them as
follows:

While in the zoological gardens at Giza, Egypt, in 1913,
my curiosity prompted me to peep through a crack in the
board fence that surrounded the property yard. There,
somewhat to my surprise, I saw two beautiful young
cheetahs closely confined in a small cage. Although the
park had two adult specimens on exhibition, it seemed
odd that these two fine young animals were not also
shown. When I asked Captain Flower, the Director, if
he wished to dispose of them he stated that they did
not belong to the zoo, but were the property of an Arab
merchant in Cairo. He undertook to consult the owner,
who finally agreed to sell them for £20 each. Accom-
panied by an Arab keeper, I carefully examined the
animals to determine their soundness. The keeper said
they were quite tame. As he lifted them out of their
cage and placed them on the ground, the animals made

[89]

WILD ANIMALS

off like a flash at a speed of twenty or more miles per
hour after a lot of chickens confined in a wire-mesh in-
closure within the property yard. Their chase was short-
lived, for they came into unexpected contact with the
wire fence and both cheetahs dropped apparently lifeless
for a time. When they began to recover we returned them
to their cage. For several days I studied them closely,
and was finally convinced that they were uninjured. I
bought the animals, and they arrived safely at the National
Zoological Park August 8, 1913. They were the only
specimens of their kind in the United States for a number
of years, and were greatly admired by visitors to the
Park, especially by directors of other zoos, animal dealers,
photographers, and artists. They thrived, and gave the
Park a record for longevity which has probably never
been equaled; the female lived thirteen years and seven
months and the male almost as long. During the growing
period their morning meal consisted of milk and eggs and
in the evening they were given chickens or pigeons. When
they became adult about four pounds of beef or horse
flesh were fed them each day, to which a pound of liver
once or twice a week was added.

Cheetahs are still fairly abundant, usually in open
country in East Africa, but the young are in such demand
that they are difficult to get. One was offered me at
Mombasa by an Arab dealer. He wanted a hundred
pounds for it. When I stated that the price was quite
high he told me what was really the truth, that he could
send it to India and get more.

For generations African cheetahs have been sent to
India to be used in hunting, especially in the northern
states. In fact, while there is a distinct race of Indian
cheetah native to the country, it is very difficult to get
a pure specimen on account of the great preponderance
of African animals that have been sent over. These
animals are used for running down antelopes, chiefly the

[go]

———— ae

— —

THE? BIG CATS

black buck. The cheetah is taken blindfolded to the
vicinity of a herd, and released. For a short distance he
is the swiftest animal that runs; he overtakes and runs
down one of the bucks, after which the natives run up,
bleed the buck, and give the cheetah a bowl of the blood.
Then they blindfold him again.

When our pair died we were naturally anxious to secure
another, and recently did get one from a traveling theat-
trical troupe of midgets. These midgets had as part of
their performance some trained animals including Mitzi,
the cheetah which had been brought from Berlin to pose
with them. However, she frightened the elephants so
that the troupe had to get rid of her. Thus she came to
the Zoo. The day before the midgets left town they came
out to say good-bye to their old pet, and caused us some
nervousness by shoving their little arms through the bars
and patting her, despite the fact that she made frequent
snaps at them.

The average life of a cheetah in a zoo is about three
years, but we have been spoiled by the record of the two
that Mr. Blackburne brought home, and expect Mitzi to
be with us for many years.

We have in the office a sketch of a sitting serval posed
front on, and while it is a faithful reproduction of the
animal, visitors frequently laugh at it, thinking it to be
a caricature of a domestic cat. It is a long, drawn-out,
spotted cat, usually gentler in disposition than the leopard,
and quite amenable to captivity. Two that we brought
from East Africa had been nest mates, and we kept them
in a small shipping box during forty days at sea, where
they lived together without any undue ferocity toward
each other. As soon as we got them to Washington we
placed them together in a large cage where almost the
first thing they did was to fight so hard that we had to
separate them.

The serval often lives near villages, and is fond of
robbing chicken roosts, so that the natives hate him.

Lg1]

WILD ANIMALS

While we were at Dodoma the natives discovered one in
a chicken house. They pounded him with clubs, until
one remembered that the white men who had rented
Barum Singh’s house were buying all sorts of live animals,
so they trussed it on a pole and brought it in for sale.
Of course we put it out of its misery immediately, but
unfortunately one of our men took a snapshot of it.
This was selected by a picture editor to go into a page
plate of illustrations of the expedition, and afterwards I
had to devote considerable time to writing explanatory
letters to humane societies. One young lady, more indig-
nant and less reasonable than the others, when I stated
the conditions wrote a return letter, demanding that the
natives who had done this be punished. Unfortunately
they were ten thousand miles away at the time, and I
could do nothing about it. Besides, while I am much
more fond of servals, except for eating purposes, than of
chickens, I believe even natives have some right to defend
their own property.

The Kafir or Egyptian cat, which has long been known
from mummies in Egyptian tombs and was certainly one
of the ancestors of our domestic cat, was very abundant
in Tanganyika. There they bred with domestic cats kept
by the natives, and several unmistakable hybrids were
brought to us with wild caught animals. They were just
as fierce as the pure-bloods. Practically all of them died
of intestinal worms shortly after their arrival in
Washington.

Again we draw upon Mr. Blackburne’s unlimited ex-
perience for a few tales of common cats with wild
animals:

A very shy half-grown cat took up its quarters with a
group of six llamas, one of which was a large buff-colored
male with a very heavy pelt. This one seemed to be the
cat’s choice for companionship. At feeding time the cat,
back and tail up, would rub against all four of the llama’s
legs. Finally he learned to eat some of the other’s rations,

[92]

THE BIG CATS

which consisted of oats. Frequently, when the llama was
lying down the cat would be found curled up on its back,
asleep. On several occasions, while the llama walked
about the inclosure, grazing, the cat calmly nestled on its
back. When nearly grown the cat disappeared.

An adult female cat took up quarters with a pair of
blue foxes, and hid in a burrow with them under a shelter
box. Several times the cat was removed, but the next
morning was invariably found with the foxes again.
Eventually the foxes had a litter of pups, but the cat
remained and occupied the same burrow. One day she
left as suddenly as she had come.

A litter of kittens was born in the cellar of the lion
house. When they grew strong enough to climb the stairs
the mother sometimes brought them out for an airing,
through a door near the open outside cages. The first of
these was occupied by a male leopard, who exhibited
much interest in the kittens. Perhaps his instinct told
him that at some time one would be foolish enough to
crawl through the bars. If such was the case, his hopes
were realized. One of the kittens did crawl into the out-
side cage. Out of the door the leopard pounced, after
the kitten. The mother cat was sitting not far away.
She leaped into the cage, onto the leopard’s back, and
clawed his head several times, after which she made a
hasty exit, following the kitten, which had run out mean-
while. Cat and kittens, all very much excited, retreated
hurriedly to the cellar, and were not seen about the cage
for several days. They had learned to keep away from
the leopard and never again ventured too close to the
cage.

[93]

CHAPTER VI
FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

At the present time we have some forty-five bears in the
Park, representing fifteen varieties. The fat, apparently
clumsy and muddle-headed bruin is one of the clowns of
the Zoo, and a great favorite with visitors.

Mr. A. B. Baker, assistant superintendent of the Park
since its foundation, contributes the following account of
the early and most noteworthy of our bears:

The first of our long line of bears was a grizzly, pur-
chased for twenty-five dollars in Billings, Montana, in
1888, two years before the Park was organized. This was
followed not very long afterwards by another grizzly and
a cinnamon, both of whom were adult and came directly
from the wilds of the Yellowstone National Park. The
cinnamon settled down to a long and contented life, while
the grizzly escaped by scaling a cliff, and was killed
resisting capture.

Shortly after this came the biggest grizzly ever in the
collection. From its beginning, in 1890, the Zoo has had
the advantage of the cordial cooperation of the Yellow-
stone National Park authorities in securing animals for
its collection. Successive superintendents in charge there
have interested themselves in procuring such animals and
birds as were available. Early in 1894 Captain George S.
Anderson, then in charge, wrote that a grizzly bear, which
he described as being “as big as a cow,” was making
trouble in the Yellowstone, and stated that he would be
glad to send him on to Washington, if the Zoo would
furnish a trap to catch him in. This seemed too good an

[94 |

SS ——————O————————O——O—————————

FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

opportunity to be missed, so all the mechanical genius
that the Zoo had was enlisted to devise a trap which could
both catch the animal and serve asa shipping crate in which
to transport him. A box made all of steel was prepared
in a few weeks and shipped out to Captain Anderson. In
due time there came a telegram saying, “Your bear is
on the road.” The grizzly had fallen a victim to his love
for pork, having carried off a pig from the butcher’s pen,
eaten half of it, and left the remainder to serve as bait
for catching him.

The bear reached Washington safely and was transferred
to a commodious cage in the Park. He proved to be of a
size that fully justified Captain Anderson’s comparison
with a cow, as he weighed 730 pounds. His appetite had
apparently not been impaired by the change in climate,
for he promptly took sixteen loaves of bread at one meal.
He had a surprisingly quiet disposition for an animal
caught wild when fully adult, and very soon settled down
contentedly to his new life. He reached Washington on
July 30, 1894, and he lived until May g, 1913. During
each of the last three winters he became very weak,
though remaining in good flesh, and each spring it required
very careful feeding to bring him up again to vigor. At
the close of the last winter, however, though still retain-
ing good weight, he was so weak that in spite of diligent
nursing he continued to fail until it became necessary to
end his existence. His age was probably thirty years, as
he must have been at least ten years old when
captured.

The record of the bear in captivity is almost as ancient
and diversified as that of the lion. It was common in the
menageries of Rome, brought there after the legions began
to penetrate the forests beyond the Alps. The bear was
introduced into the arena, where trained animal fighters
were able to break his weak skull with a single powerful
blow delivered before he realized his situation. The popu-

[95]

WILD ANIMALS

lace does not give the bear the credit due him, because
he seems so utterly lacking in dignity, and invites laughter
from his behavior. Probably bear day in the Roman
arena was “‘burlesque day.”

During the centuries when commerce between Europe
and Africa and the East dropped to a low ebb, the bear
became practically the only powerful and savage animal
which could be obtained in the northern countries. In
consequence he took the place of the lion and the tiger
in the collections of the wealthy princes of France,
England, and Germany, and the practice of bear-baiting
grew up as a popular amusement. It endured as a com-
mon Sunday and holiday sport in England from the time
of the Norman conquest well into the eighteenth century.
The bear ordinarily was tied to a stake by the neck or
one of the hind legs, and then worried by dogs. Thirteen
bears were employed in a spectacle of this kind staged
for the benefit of Queen Elizabeth and the event was
described by a writer of the period as a very pleasant sport.
The bear tore after the dogs, and when bitten by them
would bite and claw and roar, and nimbly tumble himself
free from them. When he was loose he would shake
himself “‘with blood and slaver hanging about his physiog-
nomy.” It is to be hoped that the royal lady was pleased
and edified on this afternoon. It seems strange to think
that after seeing this show, she might have attended a
premiere of one of Shakespeare’s plays the same evening.

Bear baiting was a horror to the Puritans. They tried
to prohibit it, according to Macauley, not because it
gave pain to the bear but because it gave pleasure to the
spectators. However, immediately after the Restoration
the sport was revived, though it was never universally
approved, even among the Cavaliers, as is shown by the
following passage from Evelyn’s Diary:

I went with some friends to the Bear Garden, where was cock-
fighting, dog-fighting, bear and bull-baiting, it being a famous day
for all these butcherly sports, or rather barbarous cruelties. The bulls

[ 96 |

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FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

did exceeding well, but the Irish wolf-dog exceeded, which was a tall
greyhound, a stately creature indeed, who beat a cruel mastiff. One
of the bulls tossed a dog full into a lady’s lap as she sate in one of the
boxes at a considerable height from the arena. Two poor dogs were
killed, and so all ended with the ape on horseback, and I most heartily
weary of the rude and dirty Sg which I had not seen, I think,
in twenty years before.

Bears have always been popular subjects for training,
partly because they are very hardy in captivity and com-
paratively easy to obtain and transport. Well into the
last century itinerant showmen exhibited trained bears
from village to village throughout Europe. Some peasants
made a business of capturing cubs for which there was
always a good market, and there arose even “academies
of bears” where the bears were taught tricks. One of the
most notable of these was in the village of Smorgoni in
Poland.

Usually two showmen accompanied each bear. One
played a violin or tambourine while his companion and
the animal went through their antics. They generally
dressed the bear in a burlesque costume, with balls and
spangles, in which he danced and went through panto-
mime performances. These shows enjoyed great popu-
larity, but the training of the bears was conducted with
such cruelty that it caused vigorous complaints, and
finally in 1867 the Russian Government prohibited bear
shows.

According to Loisel, a village of bear tamers existed in
France early in the present century. Even today the
trained bear is not an uncommon sight in America and
Europe. Only a few months ago such an animal fell into
the hands of the police in the District of Columbia. It
was a large black bear in the possession of two men who
were traveling in a battered automobile from city to city,
giving street-corner performances and begging. A kindly
lady gave the animal a coin and was bitten in return for
her charity, so bruin spent a night and a day in a cell at

[97 ]

WILD ANIMALS

one of the station houses. Probably he found it one of the
pleasantest days and nights of his existence, for the
policemen catered generously to his taste for sweets.
They had, however, no permanent place for such a mas-
cot, so they released the animal to his owners, with a
warning to keep out of the National Capital in the
future.

A small Pyrenean bear, tame but restrained by a strong
steel muzzle, was exhibited during 1891 and 1892 in the
streets of London, and attracted so much attention that
he ultimately had an audience with Queen Victoria at
Windsor Castle. He got to be a familiar acquaintance of
most of London’s police magistrates, because wherever
exhibited he became the center of the crowd, which in-
creased until the constable on duty considered himself
bound to take the bear into custody for obstructing
traffic. Almost invariably at the dock next morning there
was a “dismissal with a caution.” As a malefactor he
won the hearts of the officers, one of whom, a constable
who had arrested him, took up a collection for his benefit
the moment the case was dismissed. The beast was
owned by a genial Frenchman, who shared his bed with
him, and told the queen that he was a “brave béte, doux
comme un enfant.”

Bears are never safe pets except when very tiny, and
then they are great favorites—all of which is well for
zoos, because they eventually come into the collections.
One of our black bears arrived suddenly as a present from
a troupe of gypsies. It had become too large and powerful.
Another, long a pet and mascot at a station of Coast
Guard cadets, also drifted at last into the Zoo.

A great many zoo animals become beggars, some much
more than others, and the bear vies with the monkey in
its attempts to amuse the public in return for expected
tidbits. Individuals pick up special begging tricks. One
of our gigantic Alaskan Kodiaks will sit down, stretch
out his hind legs, and hold his hind feet with the front

[98 ]

ee —————ESE LL — le Oe EE EEE

PLATE 30

Upper: Marian is captured in the Polar seas
Lower: She arrives at the Zoo

PLATE 31

Marian casts a reflection

FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

ones, looking very much like a fat old lady extending
her apron to have things thrown into it. Peter, the
unique glacier or blue bear, comes to the front of his
cage and stands up, lifts one foot very slowly to the lower
crossbar of the cage, and then puts his foot back on the
floor, and puts the other one up. After he has gone
through this performance he waits for the reward.

Molly, our specimen of the common brown bear of
Europe, is the best mother the Zoo has ever had. Every
other year since 1g11 she has produced a litter of from one
to four cubs. In December she disappears into her retiring
cage and stays there several weeks without food. In Janu-
ary the keepers hear a humming noise, a sound made by
baby bears nursing. It is always more than a month after-
ward before she comes out to eat, after a long fast, bringing
the babies with her. From then on these babies, comical
little balls of fur and fat, are the principal attraction at
the Zoo, biting and playing noisily with each other and
with their mother without pause. The first litter was a
single female cub born January 19, 1911, the father being
another species, the Kidder’s bear. The baby weighed six-
teen ounces. On January I0, 1913, three stillborn cubs
arrived, two males and a female. This time the father was
an Alaskan brown bear. After this she was mated with a
bear of her own kind. On January 15, 1915, there were
three cubs; January 13, 1917, three cubs; January 12, 1919,
four cubs; January 7, 1921, three cubs; January 7, 1923,
four cubs; January 8, 1925, three cubs; January 7, 1927,
three cubs. The newly-born baby bear is curiously small,
no larger than a rat, and for some time is absolutely
helpless.

A lady who is a great friend of the Zoo, and also very
fond of personal pets, dropped in for a visit one afternoon
on her way home from Canada to Florida, and told us
that she had secured in Canada a very wonderful baby
black bear for a pet for herself. We thanked her kindly
for it—in advance—but were emphatically assured that

[99]

WILD ANIMALS

it was such a nice pet we never would get it. So the
lady took the bear on to Florida, and we received it as
soon as the express company could bring it back again.

A black bear once got loose in our park. The head
keeper saw it walking across the lawn, shouted to some of
the men for assistance, grabbed a pitchfork, and started
after the bear. The latter went up a tree and was held
there by threatening him with the pitchfork until me-
chanics from the shop had hurriedly made a cage at the
base of the tree, which the bear was driven into. Other
mechanics had, in the meantime, patched up the break
in his cage. He was immediately put back, and the
incident closed. In general an attempt would be made to
capture without hurting almost any wild animal that
escaped at the Zoo, but we have guns always ready in
case any other animal gets out.

During the heat of the summer the bears receive a
great deal of sympathy from Zoo Park visitors, because
of their fancied suffering. Yet they disport in their water
tanks and apparently are little less comfortable than
during cooler weather, despite their heavy coats, while,
incongruously, we see the lions, tigers, and leopards
panting from the heat. Even our polar bears have never
given any evidence of being at all affected. One of them
has lived here twenty-seven summers and another twenty-
three, which of itself shows that the heat can not be very
bad for them.

Our newest polar bear, Marian, was captured by the
U. S. Coast Guard ship Marion, which lassoed her and
pulled her aboard the ship when she was a youngster.
The crew improvised a cage of stout poles interlaced with
wire, except for the roof, which was of planks. As fast
as Marian would eat a plank out they would nail another
on. When she arrived she had developed a bad disposition,
and as soon as liberated in the large cage she dashed at
the bears next door. One assumes that everything she
had dashed at previously had retreated. Here her neigh-

[ 100 ]

<< ——Eoe

FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

bors failed to do so, but came close to the bars to examine
the new arrival, which nonplussed Marian very much. It
took only a day, however, to accustom her to the others,
and since then she has appeared perfectly at home.
Recently we put in the den with her a Kodiak bear, and
she tried the same tactics, rushing at him; but the Kodiak
bear, a bit confused at the large size of the bears in the
adjoining dens, paid no attention to Marian, who there-
upon stopped rushing and they are gradually becoming
friends.

There are many species of bears. The family is on the
whole a homogeneous one, but several stand out con-
spicuously from the rest. Among these are the polar bear,
which is put in a genus by itself and inhabits only the
Arctic regions, and the sloth bear (Me/ursus ursinus), also
a distinct animal. Our specimen of the latter was col-
lected by Roy Chapman Andrews in northern India and
has been with us for more than ten years, living in an
outside cage next to a pair of cinnamon bears from Alaska.
As far as we can judge from appearances he is mild man-
nered, but not at all to be trusted, and like many of his
bear relatives has a habit of sucking his paws, making a
loud humming sound as he does it.

Another unusual bear, and one of the rarest in collec-
tions, is the South American spectacled bear (Tremarctos
ornatus), characterized by tawny rings around its eyes,
which give it a bespectacled appearance. The National
Zoological Park has never been able to obtain a specimen.
The Bronx Zoo in New York had one for some time, and
I saw three beautiful specimens living in the zoological
gardens at Lima. I was told that they were not especially
rare on the slopes of the mountains.

At Espia, Bolivia, which though it has a name, is
nothing else than the most miserable sand bar in the
world hemmed in on one side by a steep hill and on the
other by the La Paz River, which is here joined by the
Meguilla to form the Bopi, we camped for three weeks,

[ tor |

WILD ANIMALS

enough time to spoil the morale of any expedition, waiting
for Mosetena Indians to make and drag up the river some
balsa rafts on which we expected to float down into the
Promised Land below. The first lot of these Indians came
in one morning dragging four rafts with them. Towing
these rafts, by the way, is a somewhat laborious process.
It takes fifteen days going up river to traverse a distance
which can be covered in one day going down, and even
the down voyage is not altogether a smooth one. The
Indians had with them the results of their hunting on
the way upstream. There were large baskets of half
roasted, half smoked spider monkeys, with long tails
coiled like watch springs; there were baskets of land
tortoises, a live spider monkey, and a. baby douroucouli
to be sent into the highlands for sale. After waiting as we
had been doing without opportunity to collect, this
plethora of animals made the same impression upon us as
that produced among the Israelites when the two spies
returned from the Holy Land, carrying between them on
a pole that enormous bunch of grapes, so well illustrated
in our Sunday schools. Most exciting of all was the skin
of a black bear that had been shot ten miles below the
junction of the river. It lacked the eye markings of the
typical spectacled bear. We bought the skin and the skull
from the Indians, and hurriedly preparing it, packed it
into a case of botanical specimens which were afterwards
dispatched to our Museum. In some unaccountable way
the skin was lost. This may have been simply an aberrant
spectacled bear, or it may be that there is waiting, still
undiscovered, another kind of South American bear.
There can be no doubt that of all the bears, the Malay
sun bear makes as a baby the most fascinating pet. More
slender in form than the usual run of bears, with a hand-
some white chevron on its throat, and the most playful
disposition imaginable, it is a favorite with residents and
travelers in the East Indies, and is one of the commonest
bears to be brought into the United States. As soon as

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FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

the babies develop a little strength, they get more and
more mischievous, so that they are always turned over
to some one else, and often to zoos. A dealer visiting us
once had one on his hands, and asked me if I knew of any
small zoo to which he could give the animal. He had got
it from Singapore, and on the way home it had killed in
play animals of ten times its market value. He was unable
to sell it because all the zoos had specimens which had been
given to them by disgusted owners.

Peggy, who represents this species in our Park, is an
incessant mischief maker. Her cage is floored with sheet
metal which must be replaced at least once a year. A
shelf on which she sleeps is two inches thick, of hard
wood, and we have had to reinforce this, top and bottom,
with metal, to keep her from chewing through once a
month. She never seems to take a rest or lose an oppor-
tunity to destroy something in the cage. At present we
have limited her to a stump in the center of the cage,
and this has to be renewed with great regularity.

Mr. Baker has prepared the following account of the
blue bear:

Probably the most eagerly sought of all American bears
is the glacier or “blue” bear (Euarctos emmonsii), which is
found only within a very limited area in Alaska. A few
skins brought out from that region by hunters supplied
the data on which naturalists established the scientific
name. The popular name “blue” bear was given to the
animal by the hunters because of its color. So far as we
know the first and only one of these bears to be taken
alive was caught by an Indian, Stick Lee Hansen, in May,
1916, near the head of Yakutat Bay. Through E. M.
Axelson of Yakutat, word of this capture and the offer
of the animal for sale reached the National Zoological Park,
one of whose friends presented the bear to the Park.

Arrangements were made with Mr. Axelson for boxing
and shipping the bear and the express companies were
asked to give it special care on transshipment at Seattle.

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WILD ANIMALS

The bear reached Washington, July 25, 1917, in perfect
condition. It was very tame and at once settled down
contentedly here. It has now been in the Park for twelve
years, but shows no decrease in vigor nor other sign of

old age.

Mr. Baker and Mr. Blackburne have collaborated to
tell the story of the biggest bear:

From the earliest historic days of Alaska, rumors came
down of bears of fabulous size. Finally, skins and skulls
came into the hands of naturalists, the measurements of
which showed these bears to be actually bigger than any
other carnivorous land animal.

An animal of such preeminence, that had been seen by
so very few people, was of course greatly desired for the
collection of the new National Zoo, but efforts made to
secure one resulted for some time only in disappointment.
At last the Alaska Commercial Company reported that
a cub had been captured on the Peninsula near Kadiak
Island. The youngster was taken May 24, 1921, when
probably about four months old. His mother had to be
killed in order to effect the capture. Her skin measured
eleven feet eight inches from tip to tip, so the youngster
evidently came from large stock. He was kept in Alaska
until near the end of the year, and then brought on to
Washington, arriving here January 9, 1902.

As a cub he was a very promising animal, and he more
than justified expectations. He weighed eighteen pounds
at the time of capture, 180 eleven months later, and when
put on the scales at the age of ten years he tipped the
beam at 1,160 pounds, a greater weight than that reached
by any other bear ever in the collection. He was fifty-one
inches high at the shoulder, and when standing nearly
erect on his hind feet he took an apple in his mouth from
the end of a stick nine feet three inches from the ground.
His size and weight soon began to attract attention, and
visitors frequently exclaimed, ‘‘Isn’t he a buster?” As he

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Buster, the Alaska Peninsula bear who reached a record weight of
1,160 pounds

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FIFTEEN KINDS OF BEARS

had not yet been christened, this name was officially
confirmed, and thereafter he was known as “Buster.”
He was of pleasant disposition, playful, and always
responded promptly to efforts made to amuse him.

At one time Buster became so helpless from corns on
both forefeet that he could not walk. Doctor Turner and
a veterinarian from the Bureau of Animal Industry were
called into consultation. The bear was lying on a deep
bed of straw well soaked with disinfectant. Cotton
soaked with two pounds of ether and placed in a funnel
was held to his nose. We waited for him to doze off under
the anaesthetic, but at the end of an hour he was still
conscious. I decided to rope him and tie him up for the
operation. A stout rope was placed around his shoulders,
with one foreleg through the loop. He was then drawn to
the bars and a rope looped around each foot. This feat
proved a most difficult task, owing to Buster’s size and his
struggles to keep free of the ropes, but once accomplished,
the operation could be performed with safety. Two
large corns on each forefoot practically covered the soles.
They were removed, the wounds well dressed, and the
ropes taken off, but his feet were in such bad condition
that recovery of their use seemed impossible. When the
operation was over the ether became effective, and Buster
slept for nearly two days. While recovering he was kept
closely confined on a thick bed of straw, and in a few
weeks his feet had completely healed. He never had
corns again.

One day when he was trying to make love to the female
polar next door through the small apertures in the par-
tition an accident befell him. She took off the tip of his
tongue. On September 30, 1914, he attempted to take
part in a bear fight which was going on in an adjoining
cage, and, due to the excitement, died instantly of rupture
of the aorta, without having shown the slightest indica-
tion that he was failing in any degree, or had a weakness

of any kind.
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WILD ANIMALS

In the proportions of this bear, and in the lines of
his head and shoulders, there was a symmetry and statu-
esque quality that no other bear here of any species
ever equaled.

| 106 |

CHAPTER VII
THE WILD DOGS

Wo tves, foxes, coyotes, jackals, and other wild dogs are
usually represented in the collection by a dozen species
or more. They are generally distributed throughout the
world. Most of them do well in captivity, fifteen years
being not an unusual age for them. Our source of supply
is in the main the branch of the United States Biological
Survey that deals with the control of predatory animals.
The Survey field men frequently find the lairs of these
animals and send in cubs to our Zoo.

Mr. Blackburne’s experiences with wolves in the Park
surpass many adventure fiction tales in interest:

In February, 1891, when I was first placed in charge of
the animals in the National Zoological Park, the few in
the collection, all temporarily housed in small wooden
sheds at the rear of the Smithsonian Building, included
wolves and coyotes, leading a very quiet, indoor life. I
prepared two outdoor cages for these groups to reduce
the odor in the buildings and to give the animals some
fresh air. The transfer to these cages seemed to delight
the animals, and they frisked about in the sunshine.
This transfer gave occasion for the “call of the wild”
to be sounded for the first time in the National Zoo, for
at noon of that day the blowing of steam whistles from
nearby factories served as a signal for the wolves to break
forth into a howling chorus. They had found their voices
and they used them to the utmost. This was an occur-
rence so new and startling to the community that em-
ployees of the Smithsonian Institution and the National

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WILD ANIMALS

Museum, joined by many people of the neighborhood,
rushed out to discover the cause of the commotion.

Several years later the Park was presented with a fine
pair of gray wolves from the West. They bred, and the
female reared four fine pups. They were all tame and
became very fond of their keeper. On one occasion they
managed to break through the wire-mesh inclosure of
their pens, and the four pups, then nearly as large as
the adults, accompanied by their parents, gained their
freedom and came directly to the rear door of the lion
house, where they waited for the keeper to come with
their rations. When discovered they were waiting very
patiently, and no one knew just how long they had been
there. I realized that an attempt to catch them would
be futile, and would probably result in the animals
scattering over the Park. Following my instructions,
the keeper picked up the bucket containing their food
and walked toward the waiting animals. Their actions
suggested six collie dogs as they followed the keeper back
into their inclosure.

On another occasion the Park received as a gift two
half-grown, pseudo-tame wolves. They were very timid
and much afraid of their keepers, even though the latter
worked as quietly as possible to avoid startling their
charges. The animals’ terror was so pitiful that I deter-
mined to show them that we intended them no harm.
While the keepers were cleaning their quarters I entered
the cage and sat down. At first they were so frightened
that they rushed for the wire mesh which surrounded
the inclosure and tried to break through. When they
found that escape was impossible they settled down and
looked me over carefully, though somewhat doubtfully.
I talked to them steadily and deliberately, and at length
they approached cautiously, and with their noses exam-
ined my hands and legs. Before I left the cage one of
the wolves jumped up on me and licked my face.

Several months later this pair of wolves escaped. The

[ 108 ]

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THE WILD DOGS

keepers started after them, but without success. This
had been going on for some time when a visitor who met
me in the upper part of the Park informed me of the
escape and the pursuit. I hurried off in the general direc-
tion of the chase, and on reaching the flagpole I found
some twenty of the Park’s employees gazing longingly
toward the Creek, where sat the two wolves. I cautioned
the men to remain very still, while I advanced toward
the animals. I talked to them as I had done when trying
to become acquainted with them, and instead of running
from me, they wagged their tails and showed plainly that
they were glad to see me. Finally they came toward me,
and as I bent down they came up to me, jumping about
and licking my hand. When they were in the position |
had waited for, I grabbed each wolf by the ear farthest
from me, and in this way was able to keep their jaws from
closing on my hands. The men rushed down the hillside
and carried the wolves back to their inclosure. It was
some time before I again gained their confidence.

Our collection at the present time has living in it all
of the three existing species of hyenas: the striped (Hyaena
striata), the spotted (Crocuta crocuta), the East African
spotted (Crocuta crocuta germinans), and the seldom-seen
brown (Hyaena brunnea). The last comes from South
West Africa, where it is said to be not uncommon, but for
some reason is seldom caught and brought into captivity.
The public is surprised to find in it a hyena which is
really attractive. The beautiful light-colored ruff around
the neck and the tremendous mane extending along the
back, which can be elevated nearly a foot high, and which
has given it the name of the ““maned”’ hyena, are the most
characteristic features of this animal. Our two specimens
are quite gentle.

When we got our pair we naturally were excited and
enthusiastic, because of their rarity in captivity, and we
spent a great deal of time around the cage taking snap-

[ 109 ]

WILD ANIMALS

shots and getting acquainted with them. It happens that
in the cage adjoining lives Chac, our giant Chacma
baboon, who has been there, winter and summer, without
artificial heat, since 1911. Chac is a union monkey. At
4:30 his day’s work is over, and he goes into his house
and closes the door. He was always very friendly with
me and would come out at my approach and smack his
lips, which is Chacma for polite conversation. Only once
had he misbehaved, and that was when Mr. Baker was
inspecting the cage next door, then in process of con-
struction. He stooped over when within reach of Chac,
and then had to telephone for his wife to bring his other
pair of trousers to the Park. After many long visits with
the brown hyenas I passed Chac’s cage and spoke to him.
Instead of responding in a friendly way as usual, he
dashed across and made a jump that would have landed
him at my throat had there not been a heavy screen mesh
in the way. It was evident that he had become insanely
jealous at the attention bestowed upon the animals in
the adjoining cage. He has never regained completely
his former friendliness.

One of our spotted hyenas that lived in the Zoo for
years was especially gentle and very fond of having his
neck rubbed, especially by our sergeant of police. This
animal had a curious fear of the outdoors, and during
his many years of captivity would never go through an
open door that led to his outside yard. This door would
be kept open more than half the year, day and night,
and many attempts were made to get him to come out.
Food was kept from him until he was very hungry and
then placed in the outside yard, but some awful fear of
the open door made him prefer starvation to passing
through it. Once he was roped and dragged outside, and
when released, gave a sudden bound into the house.
One wonders if some experience had given him this fear
of open spaces.

I believe the hyena is in general a much maligned

| 110]

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THE WILD DOGS

animal. He is of course very timid, but there are few
wild animals that are not. Perhaps his large size and
apparently powerful build lead one to expect more bel-
ligerence from him, but at the same time the lion and the
leopard will run from man, and they certainly do not
know him as well as does the hyena, who lives in the
vicinity of villages and during the night prowls around
the streets doing very efficient sanitary work for the
natives. At Dodoma we could see the hyenas any night
in the streets, and they annoyed us considerably by
prowling around our quarters, trying to get in where we
had many small animals confined. Heavy thorn scrub
piled outside made a perfectly good hyena-proof fence,
however, and they did no damage to us. We trapped
some in the same sort of box that we used for the leopards,
and they were much easier to catch than the leopards.
Once we rigged an antelope crate as a trap just outside
the house, hoping to catch some jackals; instead a large
hyena was caught in it and during the night he ate his
way out through an inch of pine board and escaped.

In Africa the call of the hyena that one hears so often
is a loud wa-hoo with the accent on the foo, a mournful
note. It gives the laughing call when in the presence of
food. The first time I ever heard this we were camping
among the ruins of Petra in South Palestine, on a little
flat into which opened a couple of high-walled, narrow
canyons. With temples cut in solid rock, and with pillars
eroded into fantastic shapes by a thousand years of blow-
ing sand, with strange legend and stranger history, it
is an indescribably weird and wonderful place. The first
evening my companion, Phillips, had gone out for a
stroll, and I was sitting alone in the tent writing notes,
when suddenly the flap was drawn aside, and a ragged
Arab entered. A Mohammedan policeman was guarding
the door, so I assumed the man had had permission to
enter, and greeted him in my best Arabic. His reply
was a gurgle. A second look at him showed that he was

Crre]

WILD ANIMALS

even more ragged than the average, his hair more fuzzy,
and there was an unpleasant amount of white in his eyes.
He advanced toward me, gurgling. When he was within a
few feet of my chair I placed my hand on a revolver lying
on the table, whereupon he fell to his knees, bumped his
head in the dirt several times, then beat his hands on his
breast and extended both arms to me in supplication. I
shouted for the interpreter, Solomon Demetrius. He
stepped in, and without a word bundled my visitor out
of the tent, and then explained that this was simply the
local insane man. Especially blessed is one who has had
his soul taken away from him by Allah, for He keeps it
for him in Paradise, and when its owner eventually dies
and arrives there, he is given it back, pure and untainted.
So no good Mohammedan will touch a madman, and my
guard at the door had simply stepped aside and let him
in. He wanted a piece of bread. The whole affair left
me in an unpleasant frame of mind, and that night I
heard my first hyena yowl. We had set traps during the
early evening and this hyena, coming across one with
some animal caught in it, took a moment to tell the world
about it. A thousand insane giants rolled into one might
have laughed as he did, the sound reverberating through
the canyon. Feeling my back hair slowly rise, I again
called to Solomon for an explanation, and he told me that
it was nothing but a hyena.

We came to hate this hyena personally very much
during the week that we camped and trapped at Petra,
for he got a good percentage of our larger mammals,
and incidentally several traps which he carried off, bait
or specimen and all.

We could always make our spotted hyena in the Park
laugh by holding his meat an extra moment or two on the
outside of the bars, when he would laugh and gurgle and
froth at the mouth enough to convince any visitor who
did not believe in the laughing hyena.

Mr. Blackburne tells a story of old circus days in which

[ 112 }

Sketches from an artist’s note book. By Benson B. Moore

Fic. 8.

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THE WILD DOGS

he gave a “Hip, hip, hoorah!” act. Twelve horses drew
a large cage containing twelve hyenas, six striped and six
spotted, with Mr. Blackburne, who had them jump
through hoops as the wagon went round the hippodrome.
One day a sick horse was replaced by one unaccustomed
to the job, and he, frightened by the band, ran away,
forcing the team in a mad race three times around the
hippodrome, with Mr. Blackburne hanging onto the top
of the cage trying to keep his legs out of the way of twelve
very much excited and bumped-about hyenas. Finally
the team broke through into the menagerie tent and was
stopped by knocking over a platform containing the
Congo Cannibals, terminating one of the most thrilling
animal acts ever put on by the Barnum and Bailey Circus.

The hyena usually lives many years, and in moderately
warm climates does not require artificial heat. Curiously,
four hyenas in the National Zoological Park have died
from goiter.

Closely related to the hyena, is the aard-wolf (Prote/es
cristatus), which in structure is really a delicately formed
hyena, but strikingly different in certain characters. It
has longer ears and a more pointed muzzle and, like the
brown hyena, a mane which can be erected at will. It dif-
fers, also, from the hyena in having five toes on the front
feet, whereas the hyena has only four, but especially in the
rudimentary nature of its teeth. The teeth of the hyena
are very strong and with remarkably developed sharp
cutting blades, as well as others fitted for crushing. No
other carnivorous animal has such powerful teeth or jaws
as the hyena. In the aard-wolf, on the other hand, the
teeth are almost rudimentary, especially those in the
cheek series, which are not continuous but separated
from each other.

Its food in the wild state consists chiefly of termites,
though it is said also to eat carrion. It is really a small
hyena turned ant-eater and modified for its different
habits. Our specimen, which has lived now for over six

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WILD ANIMALS

years, establishing a record for longevity in captivity,
has subsisted on boiled meat, finely ground, with an
occasional egg, raw or cooked, added to it.

Like the hyena, the aard-wolf is nocturnal, but the
former becomes accustomed to the cage and moves about
during the day, whereas our aard-wolf generally sleeps
until toward five in the evening. In nature it is a bur-
rowing animal.

We ran across them on Lake Meru on several occasions,
and twice succeeded in surrounding one by a line of boys
thrown around the edge of the lake, but in each case he
glided through the line.

[114 ]

CHAPTER VI

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

Orrers stand in the front ranks of animals suitable for
exhibition; playful, ingenious, intelligent, constantly on
the move and graceful in action, they also develop quaint
individual habits. One example in the National Zoological
Park liked to balance a rock on his nose while he swam.
When he tired of the amusement he put the rock away
in a certain niche and always went back for the same rock
the next time.

If captured young the otter can be domesticated, and
has been made a pet in many of the countries where it is
found. In the National Zoo we have had success with
both the northern and the southern forms. A Florida
otter was born January 5, 1915, and died November 27,
1928. The first otter to come to the collection, from the
Adirondacks, also lived a little more than thirteen years.
Out of the twenty-six specimens that have been exhibited
in the National Zoological Park, four were born here.
~ The most striking characteristic of this animal is that
it seems to enjoy itself thoroughly, whatever the cir-
cumstances of its confinement. It invents means to play,
and few other animals seem to get such unadulterated
zestful pleasure. We keep our family in a large pen with
a stream of water running through it. There is a little
wooden house for shelter, and there are some nice banks
to slide down from the house to the water. In the little
pool is a ledge of rock, half in, half out of the water,
about which one of the otters will repeat the same move-
ment hour after hour. He jumps from the top of this rock

tors |

WILD ANIMALS

into the water, swims rapidly to the opposite side, emerges,
turns a back somersault off a stone, then swims toward
the first rock, gliding under it and then up and over as if
pulled by a string. One of the greatest sights the Zoo has
ever had to offer followed a heavy fall of snow. Then the
otters had slides that really were slides, and they would
come down head first, sometimes upside down, disporting
like children. When tired of this they would get their
head started in a snow drift and wriggle through. They
kept up this sport for hours with as much zest as healthy
children, and varied it by playing hide and seek with
each other around ice cakes, or engaging in mimic wrestling
matches.

In the “good old days” of zoos, when we were getting
our first specimens, a good healthy otter cost anywhere
from $12.50 to $28. We have had no offers of any otters
at all in the last four years. This would indicate that
they are becoming rare, because of the relentless traffic
in their fur. But they are such clever little fellows that
we may believe they will maintain themselves as the
European otter has done against odds, especially when
away from settled communities. The European species,
slightly smaller than the American, frequently has been
trained as a domestic pet and is sometimes employed to
catch fish for its master. ‘

During the Middle Ages the Church permitted otter
to be eaten on fast days, under the impression that it was
“half fish.” In captivity I believe it is almost essential
for the otter to have very fresh water. They always seem
more thriving when they are living in water that is
actually running. They must be fed fresh fish, of which
they habitually waste a great deal, so that they are ex-
pensive animals to keep. Tame ones develop a taste for
bread, and ours are so fond of peanuts that several have
died through eating too many, tossed into the pool by
visitors. Sanyal of Calcutta tells of a common otter which

[ 116 |

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INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

he had in the zoo that twice escaped, and on each occasion
made for the nearest fish market.

Tropical otters do not seem to live so well in captivity
in the North, possibly because they are not usually pro-
vided with large indoor pools during the cold weather.
The zoo at Para had a beautiful specimen of the Brazilian
otter in a large outdoor pool, which played incessantly
with a wooden ball in the water. When I revisited the zoo
after ten years’ absence, I experienced a twinge of sorrow
at seeing the cage now rusty, the door open, the wooden
ball still lying in one corner. The otter had died years
before. We have never had any of these tropical forms
at the National Zoo, but I have seen the large South
American -form very abundant on the Rio Negro in
Bolivia. Nobody lives there, not even hunting Indians,
and the otters were remarkably tame, swimming around
under our canoe, and eyeing us with evident interest.

Mr. Baker has written the account of the establishment
of our beaver colony, years ago:

At the time that the National Zoological Park came
into existence, live fur-bearing animals were of little
interest: the only demand was for their pelts. So when
we wanted beavers with which to establish a colony in
the Park, no regular channels of supply existed. In time
we did secure several from widely different sources but
most of these were crippled or otherwise in poor con-
dition when received. Finally we turned to the Yellow-
stone National Park, and through the cooperation of
Captain George S. Anderson, U. S. A., then in charge,
made arrangements to procure a supply there. The
animals were fairly common in localities suited to their
mode of life, but to get possession of them alive and
uninjured was not an easy matter. It required knowledge
of beaver habits and more than the ordinary trapper’s
skill and ingenuity. Fortunately, Captain Anderson
found ready at his hand the man needed in the person of
Elwood (“Billy”) Hofer, widely known to sportsmen and

[117]

WILD ANIMALS

naturalists as a hunter and guide, and he was, with some dif-
ficulty, persuaded to undertake the capture of the beavers.

By setting nets in their runways and then driving the
beavers out of their houses, Hofer finally succeeded in
collecting a total of ten American beavers, which were
thought to be a sufficient number for the purpose. They
ranged from adult and apparently rather old animals
down to young of that season.

Shipping crates, carefully designed, were prepared for
them, each lined with sheet-iron and furnished with a
tank so that the animals could have their bath. Per-
sonally conducted by Hofer, they made the long journey
from the Yellowstone Park to Washington, all arriving
safely. Thus began the beaver colony at the National
Zoological Park.

The first site chosen for the beavers was on com-
paratively level ground near the bank of Rock Creek.
An area some fifty feet across was inclosed with a fence of
heavy wire netting, below which a barrier of sheet iron ex-
tended some four feet into the ground. The newcomers
seemed fairly well satisfied with this and took possession to
such an extent that soon they were out of sight most of the
time. A small artificial pool occupied part of the inclosure
but the location was such that the beavers had no chance
to build a dam. Not long after the beavers had been
established on this site, the development of streets in
the immediate vicinity created a demand for a new drive-
way along the side of Rock Creek. The beavers were
squarely in the line of this new improvement and nothing
remained to do but remove them to some other home.

The new place selected was in the lower part of what
has sometimes been picturesquely termed the “Missouri
Valley.” Here the grass-covered banks sloped rather
steeply to form a V-shaped valley, in the center of which
ran a little stream of clear water, fed by springs, which
had cut for itself a narrow trench at the very bottom of
the valley. We built an inclosure, about a hundred feet

[ 118 |

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

wide and nearly two hundred feet long, up and down
the valley.

The first thing we had to do in removing the beavers
was to catch them, and that proved to be no small task.
We found that they had fairly honeycombed the ground
of their inclosure with burrows. Not until practically
every square foot had been dug over with pick and
shovel was the last beaver located and secured.

Their new home seemed to meet with immediate
approval and evidently was recognized as better suited
to their needs than the first site, for they set to at once
to build a dam across the bottom of the valley near the
lower end of the inclosure. With this completed to a
point where it gave them a good depth of water, they
started a second dam several rods above, and the two
seemed to satisfy them for some time. At once, on taking
possession of the new inclosure, they had proceeded to
cut down the few trees that had not been protected,
including several small pines. They next investigated a
sycamore tree some fourteen inches in diameter which
had been protected with a guard of heavy wire netting
secured to stakes at the bottom. They succeeded at night
in loosening this so that it could be shoved up, and, by
the time we noticed their operations, they had girdled
the tree and cut considerably into the wood. Since it
was then too late to save the tree, we turned it over to
the beavers, who cut it down at once. In order to provide
suitable food, small saplings and trimmings from larger
trees were thrown into the inclosure by the wagon-load.
After eating off the bark, the beavers cut up the sticks
into suitable lengths for use in the dams. Not very long
after the building of the second dam the beavers under-
took an even more ambitious enterprise in the shape of a
dam crossing the full width of the inclosure and raising
the water level fully ten feet at the lowest point in the
valley. So extensive was this last dam that the fence had
to be moved up the hill on the rear side of the inclosure,

[ 119 |

WILD ANIMALS

and along the front the water occasionally rose to a point
where it ran out through the fence on to the public walk.
This great dam, which at first bristled with white, peeled
sticks, has been overgrown with grass and marsh vegeta-
tion so that it now appears only as a rounded, steeply
sloping green bank.

Various accidents, some tragic, befell the members of
the beaver colony. One individual, more agile or more
restless than the others, succeeded in climbing the fence
and took up his life in Rock Creek. He was seen, at first,
farther up the creek, and then at several points lower
down, but always evaded capture. Finally he made his
way into the Potomac River and, coming out several
miles below on the bank of Four-Mile Run, he encoun-
tered a man making hay, who greeted him with a pitch-
fork and ended his life.

Another beaver succeeded in making a hole in the fence
through which he went out at night, cut small saplings
on the adjacent hillside, and dragged them back through
the opening. Apparently he failed one night to find the
opening on his return, and, following down the rear side
of the fence, he came at last to the Creek. He eventually
found the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, which follows the
Potomac, and when several miles distant from the Park
was found on the towpath by a farmer, who killed him
with a club.

Young have been born several times, some of which
lived to replace the older animals, and several were sent
in exchange to other zoological parks.

The beaver is unusual among animals in zoos, in that
it can lead in an inclosure a perfectly natural life. To
feel perfectly natural a lion would have to have a zebra
a day to kill, and the bush pig an acre of African planted
potatoes to hoe up, but a beaver can lead his real beaver
life with running water, mud, and sticks. Ours loaf in
spring and summer, but when winter approaches the dam

| 726 |

— or

—

= — a

PLATE 39

Fur seals from Pribilof Islands, rare in collections

af. ,-

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

is prepared, new sticks are added, more mud gathered
from the bottom of the pond and put in place.

At one time a mother and father built a supplemental
dam below the large one, where their three little ones
played, and dug tunnels in every direction. Our speci-
mens have their lodge in the bank which they have
covered with a pile of saplings. After four in the evening
one may see them swimming about for a time, busily
working. They are fed grain and vegetables, and some-
times bread. During the summer the night watchman
carries some supplementary food which he throws into
the inclosure.

To the visitor who sees the sea lion in action before
mealtime and feeding voraciously when the fish is served,
it would seem scarcely possible that a large percentage
of seals and sea lions captured refuse to eat at all. The
dealers who handle these animals catch them in large
nets and try them out before bringing them into the
market. Those which feed are kept for sale to zoos and
circuses, and those which refuse to feed are turned out.
When they do eat, seals eat ravenously. Ten pounds of
fish a day are ordinary rations for a medium-sized sea
lion. He is one of the most expensive animals to feed
kept in average zoo collections. The walrus, of course,
with his appetite for clams, costs a great deal more to
maintain, but then he rarely appears in zoos. One sea
lion is almost as expensive to keep as an elephant. The
fish must be absolutely fresh, for hardy as the animal is,
it cannot stand tainted fish, and the entire herd in the
pool can be wiped out with one bit of carelessness.

One young showman of my acquaintance has solved
the problem of keeping seals by selling fish to visitors.
Above the sea lion pool he has placed a large sign:

YOU THROW ’EM—WE CATCH ’EM.

He not only gets his menagerie fed, but derives some profit

from the fish.

[ rat |

WILD ANIMALS

The common California sea lion came to us for exhibi-
tion in the early years of the Park. The first specimen
in the collection, received in October, 1894, was killed
by the shock of a dynamite explosion set off in connection
with the building of a city sewer through the Park. We
replaced it at once, and have never lacked for a specimen
since, having shown twenty-eight in all during the last
thirty years.

The great northern or Stellar’s sea lion, however, is
rarely offered, and is reputed to be very difficult to keep in
captivity. The Park naturally would have been glad to
exhibit such a notable animal but, in view of the ex-
perience of other zoos that had tried to keep them, did
not feel justified in paying the price that was asked for
the occasional one offered. However, a very unusual
offer came in October, 1900, when Captain Paul Boyton,
the famous swimmer, who had an amusement park
called ‘““The Chutes” at Coney Island, wrote that among
his herd of common California sea lions there was one of
apparently a different species, heavier built and with
a deeper voice. As it was the end of the season, wrote the
Captain, he was about to close out the entire bunch,
and would the Park be interested? The Park was in-
terested, and its representative at once took the night
train for New York. At nine the next morning, when
“The Chutes” opened, he was at the gate. Captain
Boyton took him to the lake, and when the sea lions
swam up at call, there was no question but that one was a
Stellar’s. It was larger and more “stocky” than the
others and its voice wasentirely different. The Park’s
representative settled the matter with Captain Boyton
on the spot, taking the animal at his figure of $150. It
was thoroughly tame, ate well, and had long been ac-
customed to captivity. Captain Boyton said that it had
been captured on the Pribilof Islands, but the U. S. Fish
Commission, which had charge of those islands, dis-
credited this statement, and the Park was unable to

[ 122 |

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

verify it. |The animal lived in the National Zoological
Park from October, 1900, to January, 1918, or more than
seventeen years, and finally died of a general decline,
due apparently to old age. Afterwards other specimens
were obtained, but they could not be induced to eat, so
soon died.

The true seals, of which we have had the leopard seal

(Phoca richardiit) and the San Geronimo harbor seal
(Phoca richardiit geronimensis) from the Pacific coast, as
well as the common harbor seal (Phoca vitulina), do very
well in captivity, provided they are furnished with well-
constructed outdoor tanks in which the water does not
become polluted. These seals have progressed so far on
the road to aquatic life that they have almost lost the
ability to use their limbs on shore. The rear legs or
flippers seem to be quite useless out of the water and
the animal must wriggle forward awkwardly on its belly,
almost as a fish would do. Sometimes when excited it takes
spasmodic hops on its forelegs. A leopard seal getting
into the water in a hurry will often roll to the edge.
_ The little harbor seal has usually been represented in
the collection. Like its relatives, it often refuses to eat
in captivity. Four specimens have lived here five years,
two of them six years, and one twelve.

One of the rarest members of this family is the sea
elephant (Mirounga angustirostris), or more properly
speaking, the elephant seal, so called because of its ex-
tensible nose. Mr. Baker has contributed an account of
our specimens, and also of our West Indian seals:

The largest of the seal tribe, and living on unfrequented
shores, the elephant seal could be secured for a zoological
collection only by an expedition specially equipped for
its capture and transportation. Such an expedition was
sent out by the Bureau of Fisheries in 1911, and it secured
on Guadalupe Island, off the coast of Lower California,
a pair of fine young elephant seals, which reached the
Park October 21.

[ 123 ]

WILD ANIMALS

The long journey proved hard on them, and both
showed evidence of colds when received, so they were a
little slow about taking interest in things. Food con-
stituted a puzzling problem, as they were believed to
live on boneless fare. We tried them with soft-scaled
fish and with flakes of cod from which the bones had
been removed. They took the cod between their jaws,
shook it, tossed it, and played with it generally, finally
swallowing an occasional piece. In time, however, they
settled down to the boneless cod diet and each ate from
six to twelve pounds a day.

They seemed quite comfortable in their water pool,
and they began to exhibit there a sportive habit, either
resumed from their former life or evolved under the
stimulus of new conditions. A mouthful of water was
taken in and then forcefully ejected, apparently with a
definite aim in mind. Many unsuspecting visitors suf-
fered a shower bath before they learned of this accomplish-
ment of the seals.

There was, of course, a very considerable risk in bringing
these seals from tropical waters to the climate of Wash-
ington just at the beginning of winter. The colds which
they seemed to have on arrival gradually disappeared,
without leaving any noticeable effects. After a time,
however, they began to have a little difficulty in breathing,
with some discharge from the nose, and later a cough.
Then they lost interest in food, after which, and before
many days, the end came, a little more than four months
from the day of their arrival.

In the spring of 1897, a representative of Saunders
and Company, a big fishery firm operating a fleet of boats
out of Pensacola, Florida, called at the Park when passing
through Washington. During this visit he mentioned,
incidentally, that some of their fishermen had recently
reported seeing a few seals on certain little islands near
Yucatan. He said that if the Park would care to have
some, he would have them caught.

[124]

INHABITANTS OF TANK AND POOL

This report at first seemed very improbable, as the
seals of the Atlantic coast would not be likely to go so
far to the south. Then it was realized that the animals
reported might be survivors of the West Indian seal
(Monachus tropicalis), which was abundant there two
hundred years ago, but had long been supposed extinct.
So it seemed worth while to try for some of the animals,
whatever they were, and the offer was gratefully
accepted.

The West Indian seal was first mentioned by Dampier
in 1675, in his account of Two Voyages to Campeachey,
where he called it the “Jamaica seal.” The species then
existed in great numbers, but, as they were fat and
yielded a valuable oil, they were rapidly killed off during
succeeding years. Naturally the Park felt much interest
as to what, if anything, would come from Saunders and
Company, and when, a few weeks later, a telegram was
received that two seals were on the way from Pensacola,
curiosity rose to a peak.

The animals arrived in excellent condition and were
seen at once to be the long-lost West Indian seal. The
Park reported its find to other zoos, some of which com-
missioned Saunders and Company to bring up specimens
for them, and naturalists for the first time had an oppor-
tunity to see what this seal looked like.

[ 125 ]

CHAPTER IX
ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

From the time they arrived at Rock Creek and so launched
the National Zoo as a physical fact, the elephants pre-
sented to the United States by a traveling circus made
Zoo history. Mr. Blackburne recalls some of the high
lights of their career herewith:

The first animals to be quartered at the newly created
National Zoological Park were Dunk and Gold-dust,
male Indian elephants presented to the Government on
April 30, 1891, by James E. Cooper, owner of the Adam
Forepaugh Circus. Secretary Langley of the Smith-
sonian, Dr. Frank Baker, Mr. A. B. Baker, and I visited
the circus to accept the gift. Mr. Cooper found it neces-
sary to dispose of the animals because of their vicious
disposition. Dunk was an elephant fighter and frequently
charged the other male elephants of the show. Separating
them was a dangerous task. When we got him, Dunk
weighed 6,040 pounds, and his age was estimated at
twenty-five years. He was a second-class elephant
(grade dwasala) and fairly easy to handle except during
the must period. Some years before his death he became
weak in the hips and joints of the hind legs. Because of
this condition he was unable to lie down, and so slept
standing up, leaning against the wall. Paralysis of the
trunk followed, when it became difficult for him to bring
food and water to his mouth. During the early hours of
March 30, 1917, while sleeping in his accustomed position,
he lost his balance, and fell forward to the floor, breaking
his shoulder. He was of such dead weight that the bone
protruded through the hide. Normally such a fall would

[ 126 |

ELEPHANTS GOOD. AND BAD

have been prevented by his trunk, but this, of course,
was paralyzed. Eight shots in the ear with a 45-caliber
Winchester rifle ended his career. During his years of
good physical condition he weighed 11,000 pounds, and
was eight feet nine inches high at the shoulders.

Gold-dust, a third-class (grade mirga) elephant, was
somewhat smaller than Dunk, but he weighed over
5,000 pounds. He was of mean and treacherous dis-
position and a man killer. We exercised Dunk and
Gold-dust by chaining them together and walking them
along the road. On one of these occasions Gold-dust
fell down, and was unable to rise. A derrick was rigged
up to bring him to his feet, but he could not remain
standing. We covered him with hay, but he died during
the night of November 4, 1898. An autopsy revealed
catarrhal inflammation of the stomach and intestines,
diseased feet, and poor teeth.

When Dunk and Gold-dust arrived at the Park there
was not even a shed to shelter them. We chained them
to trees for several months, until the octagon house
was built. Supplying the huge pair with drinking water
presented one of the most difficult tasks in their care.
At that time the Park had no supply of running water,
so two barrels were loaded on a horse-drawn cart, and
hauled to Rock Creek, where they were filled by the
tedious process of dipping the water with buckets.
Hauled back to the elephants, the water had to be again
hand-dipped, this time into two other barrels. This took
place twice a day, and as the total was eighty gallons of
water it took considerable time to satisfy the elephants’
thirst. The men who went to all this trouble were always
vexed at the rapidity with which the elephants emptied
barrels, in comparison with the time it took to fill
them.

The story of our two African elephants is likewise told

by Mr. Blackburne:
[ 127 ]

WILD ANIMALS

The National Zoo purchased two African elephants
from the Gizeh Zoological Park of Egypt for $1,500
each. Jumbo, the male, was four years old, weighed
1,700 pounds, and was five feet six inches high at the
shoulder. Jumbina, the female, was two and a half years
old, weighed 875 pounds, and was four feet three inches
high. At the same time we bought also camels, cheetahs,
gazelles, baboons, and some smaller animals. The animals
were crated and entrained for Port Said, where a lighter
transferred them to the S. S. Stermfels. The voyage
through the Mediterranean proved most pleasant, but
after passing through the Strait of Gibraltar we ex-
perienced a severe change; on the Atlantic the ship
encountered fog, wind, rough sea, and cold. All of the
animals but the elephants were sheltered in an empty
coal bunker, but the latter remained on the poop deck,
their crates well covered with heavy tarpaulin which
kept out the wind so that even they seemed comfortable.
The first two days none of the animals cared for food.
They were more or less nervous and worried in their close
confinement. By the third day they had become much
more nearly reconciled and looked for their food. From
that time on they thrived and their condition improved.
However, even during the time that they would take no
food, all of them wanted water. I carried water from
midship to aft deck, and thirty-six buckets to the elephants
on the poop deck. The captain took pity on me and had
two wine barrels placed near the elephants. These he
kept filled with water, which, of course, materially
lightened my work.

The crate which held the male elephant had an opening
about fifteen inches square in front of the animal’s head.
Through this Jumbo could poke out his trunk and tusks.
I was a perfect stranger to him, so whenever I approached
his crate to care for his wants, he would immediately
“show fight.” Talking and coaxing did no good, and I
realized that if I appeared timid at the start, conditions

[ 128 ]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

would get worse. We settled our difficulties then and
there, and Jumbo caused very little trouble during the
rest of the voyage. We became good friends, and in a
few days he would put his trunk and part of his head
through the opening, and rest his trunk over my shoulder.
He seemed perfectly satisfied as long as I remained with
him and patted his trunk, but when I left he would
trumpet and thunder as long as I was in sight.

Jumbina, the female elephant, was without doubt the
quietest animal in crossing the ocean that I had ever
handled. One hardly knew she was in the crate. The
two crates faced each other, a few feet apart, so that the
elephants could see and sympathize with one another
and wonder how it would all end.

On August 5, 1913, we landed at Boston, after a voyage
of twenty-one days, without loss of a single animal. The
shipment reached Washington late on the evening of
August 8. The following day the elephants were liberated
in separate quarters, where they had ample room to
exercise. At first they would not eat oats, a new food to
them, but would toss the grain over their backs as they
frequently do with sand or water. Finally, however,
they learned that the oats were food. Both elephants
continued to thrive on this fare.

On June 28, 1916, Jumbo was enjoying a bath in the
tank, submerging, spouting water, and having a folly
good time. This was at three o’clock. At 3:30 the keeper
informed me that Jumbo was acting rather queerly. I
went to look him over. He was pacing about the in-
closure, occasionally lying down. There was nothing to
indicate colic, but I realized his pain must be severe.
That night he died. A post mortem showed a great
rupture of the abdomen and peritonitis. This probably
was due to overexertion while frolicking in the tank.
Had he lived I think he would have been a giant, possibly
equaling his old namesake, the original Jumbo.

Jumbina, the female, continued very mild and meek

[ 129 ]

WILD ANIMALS

and liked attention. At Gizeh she had been kept in an
inclosure with two African buffalo calves and two pigs.
At feeding time she would back away, drawing her hay
with her, until she had covered the food allowance of
the other animals, which would stand by and watch her
eat up their rations. The soil in the inclosure was fine
and soft, so that her toenails were not kept worn down
on her forefeet. They had grown to a length of six inches
or more, and were turned upwards. After her arrival
here it took some time to pare her nails and trim the
soles of her feet back to normal shape. At first we held
up a foot while trimming it. When I got tired I would
sit on a box to rest. Jumbina came and stood near me
for a few minutes, then quietly lay down beside me and
remained there while we sawed, cut, and filed away her
nails. She is still in the collection and has never caused
the least bit of trouble. She is now eighteen years old,
eight feet two inches high at the shoulder, and weighs
about 7,000 pounds.

Probably the most famous pachyderm ever kept in
captivity was the six-and-a-half-ton African elephant,
Jumbo, which had come to the London Zoo as a baby,
standing only about four feet high and weighing less than
7oo pounds. At first he was rather troublesome but
after a short time became perfectly manageable and grew
very rapidly. Mr. Bartlett, the director of the garden,
attributed this to good food and a daily bath in hot
weather. In sixteen years he grew from four to eleven
feet in height. Then the London Zoo sold him to an
American circus, despite the fact that he had become their
prime attraction. The reason lay in the fact that Jumbo
was given to fits of excitement and terrified everybody
who came near him except his keeper, Mathew Scott,
who had extraordinary control over him. It was feared
that if Scott fell ill, or was injured by the animal, the
creature would be entirely unmanageable, for no other

[ 130 ]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

man dared go near him in his house. At night he would
tear about and almost shake the house down. After
becoming the property of Mr. Barnum, however, Jumbo’s
temperament seemed to change, probably due to the
harder work and exercise which went with the life of a
traveling circus. He became quite tractable and was
exhibited all over Europe and America. Mr. Blackburne,
who is perhaps the only living eyewitness of his fatal
accident, tells the story of his death:

Jumbo, an African male elephant, the largest living
mountain of flesh to travel the United States since the
disappearance of the mammoth and mastodon, arrived
in New York in March, 1882. His height was ten feet
ten inches at the shoulder, and he weighed approximately
16,500 pounds. He was shipped in a heavily built crate
that weighed probably nearly as much as he did. Low
wheels of heavy iron were fastened to a truck under the
crate and twenty-two horses hauled it from the docks
to the old Madison Square Garden, where he was on
exhibition for one month. Then, with twenty-four other
elephants, he made the trip to Brooklyn, crossing over
the Brooklyn bridge. The following week he was loaded in
an especially constructed car built for his accommodation
at Jersey City. Because of his refusal to go into the car,
chains were fastened around each foreleg and drawn
through heavy rings that had been made fast to the floor
of the car. In this way his front legs were drawn into
the car, then two of the largest elephants were placed
behind him with their heads to his rump and given an
order to push. Jumbo did not like this and resisted by
surging back as hard as possible. Finally he was con-
quered and safely chained. He kept the car rocking for
hours and was greatly frightened when the train was
moving.

Mathew Scott, the keeper who had charge of him at
London, came with him to the United States. Scott had
a berth in a small compartment in the car in front of

[ 131]

WILD ANIMALS

Jumbo’s head. A small door gave entry to Jumbo’s
quarters and the elephant would not allow it to be closed.
Scott found it almost impossible to get any sleep as Jumbo
annoyed him constantly by poking his trunk through the
open door, to pull off the blanket or sheet, or the pillow
from under his head. It was laughable to hear Scott
scolding Jumbo. “Give me the sheet,” or “the blanket,”
or “me shoes, you blighter.”’

The night of September 15, 1885, while the Barnum
and Bailey Circus was showing at St. Thomas, Canada,
Jumbo met his death. He was struck by the engine of a
freight train that came thundering along at the time
the elephants were being loaded in their cars. The
engine hit him on the rump as he was running along the
track, knocked him down, and drove his head under the
trucks of a freight car. He died within five minutes after
the crash. Ward, the taxidermist of Rochester, New York,
undertook the mounting of the hide and setting up of the
skeleton. These were placed on large trucks and ex-
hibited about the country for two years, then carried
over to London where they proved a great attraction.
The mounted hide was then given to Tufts Museum,
Boston, Massachusetts, and the skeleton placed in the
American Museum of Natural History, New York.
Mathew Scott, who had become mentally unbalanced,
fell into the habit of visiting the mounted skin of his
old charge in the Tufts Museum. He would dust the
skin and talk to it. “Jumbo,” he would say, “T’ll bet the
candy concession people miss you. Many and many a
dollar you have put in their pockets.”

The Grand Trunk Railroad Company, which was
responsible for the elephant’s death, agreed to transport
the circus trains (which were in three sections) from town
to town through Canada at a cost of one dollar per train.
I never learned the total amount allowed to compensate
for the death of the elephant.

Jumbo was about twenty-five years old when he died.

[ 132]

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ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

He was six years old when received at the London Zoo-
logical Gardens.

I had an elephant myself once, but I never saw it.
One evening at the club in Dar-es-Salaam Swinnerton told
me that the game warden at Mikindani had captured a
baby elephant, which he wanted to give to me. Mikindani
is three days by sea, in good weather, to the south; but
the steamer in which we planned to start home was
expected shortly, and our animals were being shipped in
from their various depots. With so many things to do
I could not possibly go after the elephant myself, so we
cabled to a boat at sea asking it to stop and take the
animal aboard, but the steamer had already passed
Mikindani. There were no Government boats available
in the harbor. We cabled the Sultan of Zanzibar, asking
to borrow or charter his steamer, which earlier sultans
would have gladly acceded to, but were informed that
it was out of commission.

Then the owner of the local garage offered to go and
get the elephant for a hundred pounds. The deal was
closed, and he left immediately in a one-ton truck.
Swinnerton telegraphed various government officials to
aid our emissary all they could on his trip down and
back. He also telegraphed the game warden to hold
the elephant until our friend got there. That afternoon a
deluge of telegrams came in from various government
officials, all of them bearing warnings against going to
the south; a bridge had burned out, another had washed
away, the roads were termed generally impassable.
Accordingly we wired the driver that he had better
return. In reply, he telegraphed us that he had crossed
the uncrossable Rufiji, and was headed south. The next
day he was still headed south. Then came a telegram
from the warden. The baby elephant had died. We
sailed before our automobile friend returned. Perhaps he
never returned. I shall always think of him as going over

[ 133 ]

WILD ANIMALS

bridges where there were none, and driving through
quicksands, headed south.

Many times on safari we have heard the curious
stomach-rumbling sound of elephants, and each time our
white guides, ivory hunters all when they were not with
us on live animal work, would start and glance longingly
in the direction of the sound. Our first evening in camp
on the shores of Lake Meru, we were interrupted at tea
by a boy who came running, whispering, “‘Teméo,” and
pointing. Alongside camp ran a stream bordered by a
row of trees which screened from sight the other side.
We waded the stream, and there, in an open flat not
‘more than a hundred yards from our tent, stood a mod-
erate-sized bull elephant. He hadn’t located the tent, but
evidently sensed something was wrong. He was fanning
his ears, moving his trunk about, and walking slowly
away. Lyman, who had a license to shoot elephants,
and Guy, his white hunter, walked rapidly, following him,
and I behind, taking snapshots and forgetting to turn the
film roll. Lyman and Guy bobbed their heads at each
other, and Guy raised his fearsome 4.50 and shot. He
took a brain shot right behind an ear, and I saw the
bullet strike—at least the dust splashed. The elephant,
instead of falling to his knees, trumpeted, and ran into
the bush where he was joined by a half dozen cows.
We heard them tearing through the forest, the bull
evidently with a sore head, trumpeting from time to
time. We could not understand it until one of the natives
ran to where the elephant had stood, and picked up
from the ground a smooth rifle ball. Elephant shells
are expensive, and Guy had had these longer than one
should keep them. It was simply a dud shell with enough
explosive power to give the elephant a stinging blow,
and no more.

Kechil, the Sumatran elephant, a much smaller species,
is the bad boy of the National Zoological Park, a mis-
chievous, tricky animal who will, as he grows larger,

[ 134 |

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

become an “administrative problem.” He can throw
with good aim rocks which have been tossed into his
inclosure, and has several times hit visitors on the head.
He was bought, with his mate, Hitam, by means of a
public subscription raised some years ago. For several
years the two of them lived together, disporting like two
children in their water tank in the yard. Hitam finally
had to be shot because of sarcoma of the stomach, and
Kechil, who missed her, was meaner from then on.

When the circus came with the white elephant, the
captor and owner of that animal, an Indian authority on
elephants, spent the day with us at the Park, and his
first remarks on seeing Kechil were, “A high-caste ele-
phant—probably mean in temper.” One of the marks
of a high-caste elephant is a distinct double chin, and
Kechil has it.

It should be pointed out here that the people of India
divide elephants into three distinct classes: the koomeriah
or thoroughbred, the dwasa/a or half-bred, and the mirga
or third-rate creature. Sdnyal quotes from the notes on
elephants by Captain H. Wilberforce Clarke, R. E., the
following “points” for these three types:

The parts of a koomeriah are—

Barrel deep and of great girth; legs short (especially the hind ones)
and colossal; the front pair convex on the front side, from the develop-
ment of muscle; back straight and flat, but sloping from shoulder to
tail, as a standing elephant must be high in front; head and chest
massive; neck thick and short; trunk broad at the base and heavy
throughout; hump between the eyes prominent; cheeks full; eyes full,
bright, and kindly; hind quarters square and plump; the skin rumpled,
inclining to fold at the root of the tail, and soft; tail long and well
feathered.

If the face, base of trunk, and ears be blotched with cream-coloured
markings, the animal’s value is enhanced.

The dwasala class comprises all those below this standard, not
descending so low as the third class.

The parts of a mirga are—

Legginess, lankiness, and weediness; arched sharp-ridged back,
difficult to load and liable to galling; trunk thin, flabby, and pendulous;

[135 ]

WILD ANIMALS

neck long and lean; falling off behind; hide thin; head small; eye
piggish and restless; and altogether unthrifty, which no feeding
improves.

On my first day as an official of the Zoo, I tried oblig-
ingly to pose with animals for various camera men. |
posed too near Hitam, and the camera man, had he been
quick enough, could have got a splendid picture of me
in the air jumping to get out of the way of a blow from
her trunk. I thought ostriches were safer, and sidled
alongside of a male Nubian, who showed such an interest
in my eyeglasses, of which I believe ostriches are par-
ticularly fond, that I could not obey the camera man’s
orders to “Look at me instead of at that bird.”

The age of elephants is often overestimated. This
animal grows old at about fifty years, but there is one
now living in the Cincinnati Zoo which is known to have
lived for eighty-five years in the United States.

Besides their tendency to “go bad” elephants suffer
from nervousness and, occasionally, from unreasoning
panic. A large and very tame female Indian elephant at
the London Zoo actually died of fright caused by a thunder-
storm in the summer of 1855. She was out at exercise
when a violent peal of thunder caused her to break away
from her keeper. When caught she was in a pitiable
state of terror, shaking and trembling with violent,
spasmodic twitchings of her whole body. When led back
to her stable she continued to show unmistakable symp-
toms of shock and collapse. She lay down and after a
few days, despite all that could be done for her, she
died.

Largest of all land mammals, and among the most in-
telligent, elephants are always favorite attractions in
zoological gardens, and have contributed almost as much
as all the other animals combined to the folklore of such
institutions. From the standpoint of the zoo itself, they
are highly desirable because of their longevity, the ease
of feeding them, and in general, ease of handling, though

[ 136 ]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

older ones sometimes become ill-tempered and difficult.
The public comes to know them personally. Three
generations of people may feed peanuts to the same
individual elephant.

I remember acartoon seen many years ago, I do not know
where, of a tiny girl standing in front of a big elephant,
asking, ‘“Please, Mr. Keeper, will it hurt the elephant if
I give him a currant out of my bun?” Most people do
not ask, and regardless of the sign, throw peanuts con-
tinually into his cage. Ordinarily, the feeding of peanuts
or fruit does not injure the elephant, but a visitor to a
zoo should remember that the proportion of elephants to
the public is not the same as in a circus. Our largest
circus at present exhibits about forty elephants in the
menagerie tent, where a maximum of 40,000 visitors see
them in a day. In our Zoo we have two elephants and
have had as many as 80,000 people between g a.m. and
4:30 p.m. Should all of them feed peanuts to the elephants,
we would have fewer elephants immediately.

Practically all elephants seen by the public have been
captured wild. It is one of the few beasts that can be
tamed when captured as full-grown, or nearly so, and
because of this the Indian species has proved well adapted
for domestication. In the United States the animal is
used entirely for exhibition purposes, except in circuses,
where it is most useful for pushing heavy wagons. Before
the opening of the gate in the menagerie tent one usually
finds an elephant pushing ponderous animal dens into
their proper places in the line. On wet, muddy days the
ery of “Bring the bulls!” is heard, and the “bulls” (circus
for elephants) will, with apparent ease, push wagons out
of the mire, where horse teams have been struggling in
vain at the other end.

Despite its enormous size and superior intelligence, the
elephant is one of the most easily trapped of all the larger
wild animals. In India as many as 120 of the beasts have
been trapped at the same time, while captured herds of

[ 137]

WILD ANIMALS

forty, sixty, and even eighty form the rule rather than
the exception. The most ingenious and spectacular
method of trapping wild elephants makes use of the
keddah or stockade, employed by the Government
elephant-catching stations. The progress of the hunting
party resembles that of a small army moving to the
front. In the van are a dozen or two koomkies—the
heaviest, tallest, and most majestic domestic elephants,
on whom will fall the brunt of the battle—with turbaned
attendants sitting astride their necks. Behind them
follow as many low-caste elephants, beasts of burden
loaded with ropes, axes, shovels, and picks. Then come
from one to two thousand natives on foot with horns,
tom-toms and other noise-making instruments.

Miles ahead in the jungle a hundred or more skillful
trackers have been at work for a week locating a wild
herd. At the appointed place the head tracker and
catcher meet and as the expedition nears the game all
is silence. For a time even the tame elephants are left
behind and only the men led to the front. They press
forward through the underbrush, forming a circle about
a mile in diameter. So silently and quickly do these
trained men work that not until almost the last link in
this chain has been forged do the elephants scent trouble.
Then suddenly, as though springing out of the ground,
comes the unearthly din of howls, cries, horns, and tom-
toms. This sends the beasts scurrying in the opposite
direction, only to run into the same racket again. It
meets them in every direction they turn. The animals
become more and more puzzled and frightened with
each repulse. Finally they huddle helplessly in the
center of the circle, and so permit a great stockade of
tree trunks, ten feet or more in height, to be built around
them.

Then the real capture begins. The koomkies are
driven into the arena, each beast bearing on his back
from six to ten native elephant catchers. These men

[ 138 ]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

cling to their mounts by a network of ropes which enables
them to descend to work or ascend out of danger, like
so many monkeys. The koomkies, who once roamed the
jungle themselves, seem to take a special delight in
shoving, butting, prodding, and bullying their former
colleagues into submission. It is a curious fact that only
very rarely will an elephant attack a man mounted on
another elephant. Generally the koomkies work in pairs.
Like a pair of animal policemen arresting a prisoner, two
of them will sidle alongside a victim, and jostle, push,
and worry him, tail first, towards a tree. When near a
stout tree or stump the elephant catchers slide from
their mounts to the ground, crawl under the ponderous
bellies, slip cable slings around a hind foot, and take a
turn around the tree. Back staggers the victim, butted
farther and farther to the rear. The men take up slack
until the great gray leg is tied hard and fast against the
tree, where the captive is left, struggling and panting.
Thus the herd is fettered, one after another.

Once captured, the elephant is by no means a difficult
animal to domesticate. The community life of the
creatures and their natural intelligence serve the trainer
a good turn and it is not long before they are carrying
logs, being trained as riding animals, or being prepared
for shipment to some wild animal dealer.

Any adult elephant is apt at certain times to become
suddenly murderous, and many give way to frightful
paroxysms of rage. Sometimes one becomes a chronic
man killer. A famous example was Mandarin, of the old
Barnum and Bailey Circus, who killed three men, maimed
a fourth, and finally was strangled by a steam winch
aboard ship just before the ship reached New York from
its trip abroad. The elephant was thirty-five years old
at the time, and had been with the show for thirty years.
He had grown to large size, and until the circus was
touring France had never shown a trace of ugliness.

The first murderous fit came upon him during a per-

[ 139 ]

WILD ANIMALS

formance, when a substitute trainer was trying to put
him through his regular act. The man laid himself flat
on the ground to have the elephant walk over him,
exactly as he had walked over men hundreds of times
before, and exactly as elephants walk over men today at
every performance of every circus. Mandarin advanced
as usual, but when he came to the man he lifted his
ponderous foot, held it over him a moment, and then
with a shrill trumpet planted it squarely on the un-
fortunate’s chest with all the pressure of 4,000 pounds.
Then, trumpeting madly, he started on a run, picked up
a hyena cage and smashed it, and broke the back of a
mule with one blow of his trunk. He was finally roped
and thrown and filled with opiates.

Apparently he had yielded to the treatment. But
within six months the madness returned, and this time
he seized a stable boy who was cleaning his quarters, and
dashed him against the floor, afterwards kneeling on his
lifeless body. The circus authorities resolved to execute
him and prepared a noose of cable rope with which he
was to be strangled by other elephants, but suddenly
Mandarin became again a model of propriety and was
given a respite. His legs and head were chained, but he
gave no trouble until he was on the ship for the return
voyage to the United States, when a drunken intruder in
his cage teased him. The animal threw his full weight
against the man, crushing him against the wall. One of
the keepers, a negro, ran up with an uplifted elephant
hook only to receive a blow from the upraised trunk,
which knocked him thirty feet across the deck, uncon-
scious, and with both shoulder blades broken.

This sealed the fate of Mandarin. The execution took
place thirty miles off Sandy Hook by hanging. The
animal died without a whimper, holding its breath for
the enormously long period of two minutes and forty
seconds before he went crashing headlong, breaking an
eight-by-eight timber as his great body toppled in a

[ 140 ]

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ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

heap. Then his cage, weighted with 5,000 pounds of old
chains and scrap iron, was raised by a derrick and dropped
into the ocean.

Ordinarily the execution of a “bad” elephant is not
such an elaborate or gruesome affair. A bran mash
containing a heavy dose of cyanide of potassium has been
used, and Topsy, a “bad” elephant at Coney Island,
was electrocuted and dropped like a log when 6,000 volts
were sent through her body.

An African elephant, which went “bad” in the Liverpool
Zoological Gardens in 1848, was said at the time to have
been the finest pachyderm in Europe, but it killed two
keepers, and the officials in the gardens were so terrified
at the thought of its escape that they set up two six-
pounder cannons in front of the elephant house, and then
gave the elephant two ounces of prussic acid and twenty-
five grains of aconite in its food. This did not have any
effect, so thirty soldiers from a regiment were ordered
out to shoot it. The first volley of fifteen balls did not
kill it, but the second did, and the elephant sank with
thirty bullets in his body and enough poison to kill
fifty men. .

Damon and Pythias have their representatives among
the elephants, and Hans and Parkie, presented to the
Stadtholder of Holland in 1784, are to be compared to
that duo of good friends. These elephants were both
about eighteen months old when captured in Ceylon.
After their arrival in Holland they were kept for a year
at Le Petit Loo, the country residence of the Stadtholder,
just outside The Hague. They were great favorites of
both the court and the people of the nearby city. They
enjoyed complete freedom of the grounds and buildings,
and were later removed to Le Grand Loo, the larger
estate of the royal family, near Apeldoorn, where there
was already a menagerie, so that they might have still
more space. The journey involved crossing a wooden
bridge over the Rhine at Arnheim, and the elephants

[141]

WILD ANIMALS

were induced to trust themselves to this apparently
flimsy structure only after they had grown hungry and
hay was displayed on the other side.

From the time of their arrival in Holland one was
never seen without the other. Hans would often pull
down high branches with his trunk and hold them, in
order that Parkie might feed more easily upon the leaves.
They were cared for by a keeper named Thompson, for
whom they displayed great fondness, obeying his com-
mands and running to him when he called their
names.

Ten years later Holland was overrun by the armies of the
French Republic. A troop of French cavalry was billeted
at Le Grand Loo. Fodder was scarce and it was proposed
to kill the elephants so that more hay would be available
for the horses. Thompson made a successful plea for
his pets with the French commander and provisions were
set aside for them, but the rest of the menagerie, one of
the most interesting in Europe at the time, was being
slaughtered by a representative of the French Republic
who found pleasant and easy hunting about the grounds.
Thompson, fearing for his elephants, went to the French
General, Dejean. This official not only issued orders
that the menagerie be preserved, but sent a strong de-
tachment of soldiers to protect the animals. A short
time afterwards the creatures were ordered transported
to Paris—an order easier to issue than to fulfill in those
days of limited transportation.

The transportation of the elephants was most difficult
of all. Two large wooden cages mounted on wheels were
built especially for them. Hans was induced to enter one
of the mounted cages and bars were let down in front of
him. For the first time he was separated from Parkie.
The big pachyderm smashed through the bars as if they
had been made of paper and rushed to join his com-
panion. Four months were required to build another
cage, but when the work was done, Hans, with the long

[ 142]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

memory notable in elephants, refused to be led into it.
His faith in men was shattered. Accordingly, a child was
employed to deceive him. The boy finally induced him
to enter the cage by tempting him with potatoes, which
Hans particularly liked. Parkie then was led into her
cage without difficulty. They finally arrived at Paris
and were taken to the Jardin des Plantes after a journey
by land and water which had taken six months. During
this time Hans and Parkie had not seen each other. A
day or two after their arrival Parkie was let into Hans’s
cage and the animals rejoiced at being together again by
caressing each other with their trunks.

They became the most notable exhibits at the Jardin
des Plantes. They were given a special attendant. The
elephants were trained to do amusing tricks, upon which
they improvised, for the benefit of the visitors. At one
time a special concert by sixteen artists from the Con-
servatory was provided for them in order that scientists
from the National Museum could study their reactions
to different sorts of music.

A few years after arriving in Paris Hans fell sick and
died. Parkie would not be consoled. There was no other
elephant available in Europe at the time, so she was
given a camel as a companion, but she refused to have
anything to do with him, and continued to decline. At
last it became obvious that unless a comrade of her own
kind could be secured for her she would die. After two
years an elephant was purchased for 16,000 francs, but
it was too late. Within a few days Parkie died.

The elephant is sometimes in need of the service of the
zoo’s surgeon. He is usually not a bad patient, and seems
to realize that what is being done is for his benefit. In
captivity it is necessary periodically to trim the feet and
toenails of the elephant. The sole of his foot measures
about twenty inches across, and consists of a tough, elastic
gristle. An elephant at large in the jungle or doing his
day’s work in India gets sufficient exercise to wear the

[143 ]

WILD ANIMALS

soles of his feet to a thickness of an inch, but in the zoo
the soles get thicker and thicker until they crack and pick
up all sorts of foreign substance, which may work in to
the quick. From the soles of one elephant in Central Park,
New York, were removed a set of dice, the bowl of an
iron teaspoon, the handle of a penknife, and an iron
nail. The animal had gathered up these things in six
months. The tools for trimming an elephant’s feet include
a carpenter’s drawknife, a rasp for the soles, a horseshoer’s
knife, and sandpaper for the toenails. Strips of the horny
soles are sliced off with the drawknife until the desired
thickness is reached, and the surface is smoothed with the
rasp. The toenails are then cut and rubbed with sand-
paper.

Elephants, particularly on their arrival from the
tropics, are apt to suffer from stomach ache caused by the
cold. Sometimes they are so severely affected that they
roll on the ground. The application of a thick mustard
poultice and a dose of gin and ginger usually prove effec-
tive. The treatment consists of wrapping a blanket
around the body of the animal and plastering it with a
thick layer of mustard. Over this another blanket is
thrown and securely bound. Soon the heat of the mustard
begins to permeate the stomach. The gin and ginger,
taken internally, of course, complete the cure. Some-
times elephants who have tasted this drink during their
earlier attacks have feigned illness in order to obtain it
again. A pachyderm in one American circus was very
fond of rolling on the ground in order to secure the coveted
tonic. He was not cured of this deception until the
treatment was reduced to the mustard poultice alone.

An ugly temper does not necessarily mean that an
elephant is “going bad.”’ It may be that his toenails need
cutting. This was the case with Big Tom, an unusually
tractable and playful animal in Central Park, New York,
about twenty years ago. He was a great favorite with
the children and was considered an entirely safe playmate.

[144 ]

ELEPHANTS GOOD AND BAD

Suddenly he became vicious and lame at the same time.
Otherwise he appeared in perfect health. Upon close
examination it was found that his toenails had grown to
an abnormal size. For the trimming operation his keepers
assembled a special chiropody outfit consisting of a saw,
chisel, sharp knife, coarse rasp, and sandpaper and
smooth polishers. With the operation completed Big Tom
was released from his fetters, cured both of lameness and il]
temper.

[145]

CHAPTER X
THE WATER HORSE

Tue National Park’s pair of hippopotamuses came
from East Africa, the female in 1911, the male in 1914.
It is interesting to note that the male, which came from
Tanganyika Territory, was bought for $1,600 in Ig14.
In 1926, the first day that I was ashore in Dar-es-Salaam,
I was offered a young hippopotamus for sale, f. o. b. 110
miles from the nearest railway, at a price $900 greater
than we had bought the other one for in New York City.
At that time we were frantically trying to dispose, by
exchange, of a young hippo born in Washington, so the
Hindu gentleman who was acting as middleman went
away disappointed.

At Tula, Tanganyika, hippos made themselves a great
nuisance; so much so that the game department had sent
down a number of game boys, armed with rifles, to reduce
the herds in the nearby swamps. The animals would
come out at night and create havoc in the natives’ plan-
tations. Curiously, they were kept out of cultivated
fields by most ridiculously small and fragile fences, and
we came upon several of these built by the natives.

A small stream with several large pools in it ran near
the camp. We did not want a hippopotamus, but after
listening to their roaring grunts at night I was anxious to
see one alive. One of the game boys went with me early
in the morning, and we hid in a thicket of papyrus at the
edge of the stream, directly above a pool perhaps twenty
feet across. We waited for some time. A good prelimi-
nary exhibition was arranged by a crocodile five or six

[ 146 ]

THE WATER HORSE

feet long floating on the opposite side of the pool, and a
little pigeon who wanted to drink, but somehow sensed
that it should not. It would run ‘along the edge of the
pool and the crocodile would disappear. A moment
later two bulging eyes would come to the surface, where-
upon the pigeon would run a little farther, only to en-
counter those eyes again.

At the right of the pool stretched a sand bar where
some obstruction had caused a little ripple. I watched
this from time to time, and presently noticed another
ripple to the left. Thinking it curious I had not noticed
this second ripple before during our hour of waiting, I
studied it more closely and saw that it was caused by an
object as large as a frying pan which had come to the
surface. Sharper inspection revealed this object to have
two eyes, two ears, and two nostrils. It belonged to an
adult hippo. I leaned forward and we stared at each
other while one might count three, after which the hippo
disappeared. A few moments later we heard a heavy
body thrashing through shallow water on its way toa
deep pool beyond. This was my only sight of a live wild
hippo.

Young hippos are caught sometimes in pits, but some-
times in the open by killing the mother. While attempt-
ing to capture one by the latter method Gustave Hagen-
beck, of the well-known firm of wild animal collectors and
Gales: met his death.

The hippopotamus is quite common in zoos; he breeds
well, and lives, with proper care, for many years. From
our ‘pair have been born five young, four of which we
raised and sent away in exchange. From my notes the
period of gestation is between 232 and 245 days, and
the weight at birth from forty-five to seventy pounds.
The one we failed to raise was drowned when the mother
accidentally held its head under water. Contrary to
popular belief, the hippopotamus cannot live long sub-
merged. Bartlett records fifteen minutes for a young one.

[147]

WILD ANIMALS

From five to eight minutes is as long as our adults stay
under water. An unfortunate incident happened before
this baby was born. Someone left open the door to a
python cage. One of the pythons crawled out, crossed
the room, and entered the pool in which the hippo was
sleeping. The night watchman was astounded on enter-
ing the building to hear splashing and found an hysterical
hippopotamus trying to trample the life out of a ten-foot
snake. The latter was removed and put back into its
cage but the hippopotamus was nervous for a long time
afterward, and to this may be due her carelessness with
the new-born baby.

The hippo is ugly. He can’t help that, and one resents
the slurs cast by visitors upon an animal unusually
intelligent despite his uncouth appearance. The story of
one of our baby hippos, “Buster,” which appears in
Volume I, page 88, of this Series will abundantly bear
out this statement.

The hippopotamus belonged to the group of sacred
animals of Egypt. It seems to have appeared first in
Europe in the menagerie of Octavius in 29 B. c. Since
then many individuals have been recorded, notable among
which was Guy Fawkes, a cow by the way, which lived
for more than forty years in the London Zoo, where she
exemplified the placid life. Year in and year out she
grew up peacefully in the garden, alternating between
her indoor quarters and a deep tank of water outside.
She grew amazingly fat, and like many fat people, had a
pleasant disposition. She would open her enormous jaws
at a word and allow the keeper to play with her huge,
flabby tongue, though why the keeper would want to do
so I can not guess.

Obash, the first hippopotamus exhibited in the London
Zoological Gardens, once escaped when the keeper left
the door of his cage open. Attempts to lure him back
into captivity with mouthfuls of hay failed and the zoo
staff was in despair when a brilliant idea came to the

[ 148 ]

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superintendent. There was one keeper, Scott by name,
the sight of whom was to Obash as a red handkerchief to
a bull. With his courage sustained by the promise of a
handsome bonus, Scott agreed to place himself between
the retreating form of the hippopotamus and the open
door of its den. At the cry of “Obash!” the brute turned
its head, and then catching sight of Scott, wheeled and
charged. A hippo can charge with amazing speed for so
bulky an animal. Scott fled, Obash lumbering after him,
grunting as he came, through the open door of the cage,
across the inclosure, and then Scott cleared the -fence
beyond. The gate was closed on Obash, and so on the
incident.

The pygmy hippo, a species known only from Liberia and
scarcely larger than a big hog, is a much rarer animal
in captivity. It differs, in addition to its smaller size,
in the structure of its skull and teeth, and is especially
interesting in that it exudes a whitish, latherlike sub-
stance from the skin, rather than the carmine-colored
secretions which have given the larger hippo the name
of “‘blood-sweating behemoth.” Our specimen was cap-
tured by an employee of the Firestone Plantations Com-
pany in Liberia, and presented to President Coolidge by
Mr. Harvey Firestone. He arrived at the Zoo in a wooden
box with a little tank built at one end of it. From the
beginning he was very gentle and playful, fond of running
about aimlessly like a puppy, and snapping at imaginary
things in the air. He liked having his gums rubbed, and
I did this day after day until I noticed a pair of tusks
already over an inch long, so discontinued my friendly
offices.

Hippos, in common with humans, often suffer from
their teeth and occasionally require the services of a
dentist for an extraction or for the more difficult and
painful operation of “filing down.” The animal has two
very prominent teeth, properly called tusks, growing out
of the lower jaw. They start in a vertical direction but

[ 149 |

WILD ANIMALS

later bend in a graceful, backward curve. They are most
useful teeth to the wild hippopotamus for tearing up the
trees and bushes upon which he lives. Under normal
conditions these teeth reach about six inches in length.
The rough work to which they are subjected by the
animal when roaming through the forests in quest of food
prevents them from growing unduly. But in the zoo cage,
where the owner lives on luxurious dishes of bread, hay,
and bran mash, the tusks have no hard chewing to do,
so that they sometimes push out to such a length that,
if not cut, they would pierce the upper jaw, prevent the
animal from eating, and slowly starve him to death.
Consequently they must be filed down whenever they
threaten to cause trouble. In the front of the mouth, also
in the lower jaw, are two other prominent teeth, pro-
jecting straight forward. These are not used for biting
but for digging up the earth when the animal fancies a
tasty root for dinner. These also sometimes must be
cut back, although they do not cause as much incon-
venience, when too long. The following account of the
“filing back” operation, as performed on one of the hippos
of a well-known American circus, is given by Mr. Frederick
A. Talbot:

To enable the operation to be satisfactorily performed,
“Babe” [the hippo] was led out into the arena and placed
near a stout iron post which had been deeply and rigidly
fixed into the ground. The hippopotamus looked about
him quizzically as if endeavoring to divine what move was
in contemplation. Chains were passed around his short
legs, and fastened firmly to the ground. Babe, not quite
comprehending the meaning of this secure hobbling, gave
a sonorous grunt, and looked threateningly at his keeper.
But at this juncture a loaf was offered to him, and his
momentary anger was instantly appeased.

Babe was then enticed to open his mouth by means of
further dainties held temptingly high above his nose. At
first he refused point-blank, but he finally succumbed to

[150]

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By Benson B. Moore

Sketches from an artist’s note book.

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THE WATER HORSE

the bait, and opened his capacious jaws to the extent of
two feet. Immediately, two assistants standing in position
dexterously threw two chains over the distended jaws—
one over the lower, and the second over the upper—and
passed the ends through ringbolts fixed to the post.
- Babe attempted to close his jaw, but in vain. He was a
secure prisoner, bound literally foot and mouth. The
keeper then proceeded to perform the necessary operation
with all possible celerity. For this delicate dental work
the menagerie proprietor has provided a special outfit
consisting of a small, finely tenoned saw, three files, one
of which is about as coarse as a wood rasp, and the other
two very fine and more suited for polishing purposes.
The files are only cut upon one side, the other faces
being covered with thick and soft leather, so that in the
event of the file slipping off the tooth, the brute’s mouth
would not be wounded 1n any way.

The front digging teeth first claimed attention. The
keeper set to work with a will, merrily filing at the teeth
as if he were rasping a piece of wood fixed in a vise.
The animal gurgled and spluttered, and large tears, like
balls of crystal, rolled from his eyes. He grew restless,
and in two or three minutes his struggles became so
violent that the operator had to desist.

When Babe had quieted down once more, the dentist
again set to work vigorously, and ceased for a few moments
every time the hippopotamus grew restless. Probably the
animal suffered little real pain, but experienced a dis-
agreeable sensation as the strong steel file rasped over
the bone, which proved to be extremely hard. At the
end of five minutes, one tooth had been filed down an
inch and a quarter, and before a quarter of an hour had
elapsed both the digging teeth had been treated and
polished.

A curious feature was observed during the operation.
The body of the animal appeared to be bathed in blood,
and the ground immediately beneath it was dyed a deep

[151]

WILD ANIMALS

red. This was due to Babe’s violent perspiring, as the
perspiration of the hippopotamus, when excited, is red
in color.

The dental surgeon then directed his skill to the tusks.
This task was considerably facilitated by sawing off the
tusks to the desired length, and then finally grinding the
teeth down to the requisite shape with the files. They
were then polished, and the unpleasant operation was
completed.

Great excitement now followed. Every man, with the
exception of the keeper, decamped from the scene of
action. The keeper then hurriedly knocked away the
chains holding the animal’s mouth and also quickly hied
him to a safe distance, in case Babe proved obstreperous.
The hippopotamus closed his released mouth with a snap,
and spluttered viciously with violent anger. He glared
at the keeper as if he would have liked to kill his tor-
mentor. He opened and closed his mouth several times,
found his teeth more comfortable, and then signified his
appreciation for what had been done to him by sniffing
about for something to munch. The keeper warily ap-
proached him with an appetizing pail of bran mash, which
Babe devoured with great zest. The shackles were knocked
off his legs, at which the brute gave a grunt of satisfaction.
All signs of viciousness had vanished and, quite content, he
accompanied the keeper back to the cage, where he lay
down and went to sleep.

CHAPTER XI

OLD AND NEW WORLD CAMELS

A.ruoucu the camel is one of the very commonest animals
in zoological collections, it is interesting to note that the
average visitor to a zoo, even the hurried one, stops for
a moment to look at it.

The “ship of the desert” deserves its name. It is a
cargo ship, a battleship, and a passenger ship, and while
serving in the latter capacity, can even make the pas-
senger seasick with its steady, rocking gait. Combining
the usual characters of the horse, the cow, and the sheep,
and with its own peculiar virtue of being able to withstand
long periods of drought and hunger, it has enabled man
to live in vast areas of the globe otherwise uninhabitable,
supplying him at the same time with food, drink, clothing,
and transportation.

The camel’s ability to withstand drought and hunger
has probably been overestimated, although it doubtless
excels all other domestic animals in this respect. When
compelled to travel for days with little or no food, camels
soon break down. This was shown disastrously in the
British Khartoum expedition when hundreds of the
creatures died of exhaustion because those in charge did
not seem to realize that there was a limit to their en-
durance. The British had a similar experience in the
Afghan war, when 20,000 Bactrian camels perished
miserably.

My own experience shows that after three days with-
out water a camel becomes even more irritable than at
other times, which is the mth power of irritability. In

[153]

WILD ANIMALS

crossing the Sinaitic Desert we were amazed at what
they could do on forage which they picked up after the
day’s journey was over, forage of thorny scrub, so that
we jokingly maintained that they could live on kindling
wood with shingle nails in it.

The patience of the camel has also been popularly
exaggerated. What patience it has is due to stupidity.
When made to kneel down and while receiving its load,
it utters loud cries of indignation. Nanny, my riding
camel, would commence howling as soon as I approached
her to mount. Sometimes I would give her a handful of
dates, and the noise would cease just long enough for the
food to pass the howling portion of her anatomy, when
the horrible gurgling grunt would resume. She would go
out of her way to bite anybody, even another camel, and
the only time I could detect any satisfaction in her bearing
was when she had kicked a hole through my suitcase.

The two attempts to introduce camels in the South-
western deserts of the United States as domestic animals
have failed, though it is not definitely known why. The
first herd was procured by the United States Government
from Smyrna in 1856, and distributed over Texas, Arizona,
and New Mexico. During the Civil War all of these
animals fell into the hands of the combatants and were
used for carrying mails, some of them making journeys
of more than 120 miles a day. After the war the remnant
was once more taken over by the Federal Government
and others were purchased in 1866. These were distrib-
uted through Arizona and Texas for breeding purposes,
but many died. The remainder were turned loose and
every now and then there appears a newspaper account
of somebody having seen one. It is improbable, however,
that any of them exists at the present time.

In Australia the introduction proved successful, and
camels are still used as beasts of burden in the desert
regions, though each year to a less extent. In consequence,
the dealer finds Australia one of the easiest places to

[154]

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Sv ALV Id

OLD AND NEW WORLD CAMELS

procure camels. A few years ago one enterprising animal
man brought from there to New York no less than fifty-
eight big Afghan camels in one shipment.

The ancestry of the domestic camel is unknown, but
neither of the varieties,—the Arabian or single-humped,
and the Bactrian or double-humped,—exists any longer
in the wild state, though there are some semiwild herds
which have escaped from captivity. Wild camels are
said to have existed in Arabia at the start of the Christian
era and this, coupled with the fact that they do not
appear to have been known to the ancient Egyptians,
makes it seem plausible to assign to both types an Asiatic
origin.

The dromedary, the taller and more graceful, if that word
can be applied to a camel, of the two species, is confined to
the hot regions of Asia and North Africa. The Bactrian
is found in nearly all the desert regions of Central Asia
lying between Afghanistan, Turkestan, China, and
southern Siberia, where it is as important to the nomad
inhabitants of this region as the Arabian camel is to the
Arabs. It feeds chiefly on the bitter plants of the steppes,
which are rejected by most other animals, and has a
curious partiality for salt, drinking freely of brackish
water and salt lakes. The young are so helpless at birth
as to be unable even to eat for about a week, and they do
not attain their full size and vigor before the fifth year.

The specimen in our Park at present was born here.
The mother died shortly after, so the baby was brought up
on a bottle. Eventually it took to eating hay and grain,
and the bottle was discontinued. After several months,
for some unaccountable reason, it went “‘off its feed”’ and
visibly pined. At this time the head keeper got out the
bottle and fed it milk again for a week, after which it
resumed its vegetarian diet, and has grown into a very
fine specimen. This last statement might be open to
question in the summer months when it is shedding.
Then great patches of hair come off, while others remain

[155]

WILD ANIMALS

to set off the barer places, so that one visitor remarked
that that animal was sadly in need of new upholstery.

Our Arabian camel has struck up a friendship with a
goat placed in the paddock some years ago, and they
appear to enjoy each other’s company.

The New World members of the camel family, com-
prising the llama, the guanaco, the alpaca, and the vicufia,
are well known in zoos. They offer no particular problems
in temperate climates. Of the four species, two wild and
two domestic, the llama is somewhat the hardiest. In
our herd one has lived for seventeen years and eleven
months, and we have sent away in exchange no less than
forty specimens born here. Eleven guanacos have also
been born in Washington and sent away to other zoos.

The smallest and most timid of the family, the vicuiia,
has lived here for over eleven years. It is an extremely
light, graceful animal, confined to the mountains of
central Ecuador and central Bolivia. It has never been
successfully domesticated, but is still hunted both for its
flesh and its excellent wool.

The other wild species, the guanaco, is a larger, heavier
animal whose range extends from the high mountains of
Ecuador and Peru to the plains of Patagonia and the
islands of Tierra del Fuego. It appears to have a curious
instinct for resorting to particular “dying places” when
it feels the end approaching. Darwin observed that on
the banks of the Santa Cruz in certain places the ground
was white with bones. They did not appear gnawed or
broken, as if dragged together by beasts of prey.

Both the domestic species are believed to have origi-
nated from the wild guanaco. The larger is the true
llama. It was bred by the ancient Peruvians as a beast of
burden and a riding animal. At the time of the Spanish
conquest it was not uncommon to meet droves of from
500 to 1,000 llamas loaded with silver, all in charge of a
single native. Only the males were used as beasts of
burden, the females being kept for their flesh and milk.

[ 156 ]

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OLD AND NEW WORLD CAMELS

It is estimated that at the time of the conquest as many
as 300,000 were employed in the transport system from
the Potosi mines alone. Introduction of horses and mules
may have somewhat reduced their numbers, but it is
still a common beast of burden in Peru and Bolivia, and
I was told in La Paz that a dead animal, for its hide, its
flesh, and its bones, had as much value as a live one.
It is a common sight to see an Aymara Indian driving a
small herd of these animals before him and knitting
steadily as he walks. Their dried dung is important as
a combustible in La Paz. It is sold in great cakes called
takia, and used in cooking fires. One of the few occasions
in La Paz that I remember being unusually warm was in
the home of the American Consul before a large open
fire of takia.

The alpaca, still kept in great herds on the high plateaus,
is smaller and not used as a beast of burden, but bred
entirely for the sake of its fine wool, sometimes so long
that it reaches almost to the ground from the animal’s

belly.

[157]

CHAPTER XII
SOME, PIGS

SEVERAL varieties of the wart hog are found over a great
part of Africa, and it is one of the commoner animals seen
by the traveler. During the day the species lives in
holes in the ground, but morning and evening find them
foraging and rooting. Generally they adopt a kneeling
position as they root, and they have great calluses on the
knees of their forelegs, which are of special interest be-
cause they are quite well developed on the embryo. Does
this constitute an example of the inheritance of an acquired
characteristic?

We caught our specimens at Tula. To the native,
game is forbidden, because white and native are treated
alike under the game law and few of the natives have
sufficient money to pay for the necessary license. But
certain animals are game to them, among others the
wart hog, which, with the bush pig, an even more destruc-
tive relative, often creates considerable havoc in the
gardens. So our natives of Tula had already had con-
siderable experience in catching them, using nets for this
purpose. We would put these nets in place, send the line
of drivers around, and then wait patiently to see what
came out of the forest. Most often it was wart hog. An
adult, with head and tail up, running swiftly toward one
is a fearsome sight. Nine times out of ten they would
hit the net, go through it, and disappear. Once when I
was back of the net one broke through. I ran in front of
him with a lariat. He turned, and came at me for a
dozen feet before swerving, and the movie man missed a

[158 ]

SOME PIGS

picture of a record high and broad jump, combined, by
not having his camera set up at the time.

But several did not get through the net. We hastened
up and put a double hitch around the upper and lower
tusks with a rope. The first one we decided to put in a
large bag we had with us. None of us, not even the natives,
had ever put a wild pig in a bag before and after con-
siderable arguing as to how it should be done, we decided
to leave it where it was in the net, and in fact to add
several more nets for good measure. We carried them
home to camp in this way.

Once we put up about fifty feet of net in one place and
fifty feet in another, intending to fill in the gap when
additional boys and nets came up. While we waited a
wart hog suddenly appeared and dashed against net
number one, and while we were tying him another from
the opposite direction, evidently frightened by the sound
of our approaching cavalcade, darted out of the bush and
hit net number two, so without a drive we had caught
two of them in a very few moments. At another time
a large male was tangled in one end of a net and Charley
ran up and was tying his mouth, when suddenly a smaller
one dashed blindly out, struck the same net and tangled
the three of them up together. It was funny after it was
over, but not at the time, for the tusks are capable of
inflicting bad wounds. In fact, the only serious casualty
caused by animals that we had on the entire trip resulted
when one of our boys had a large piece taken out of the
calf of his leg by a wart hog.

The animals behaved well in captivity. They took
kindly to any food that we would give them, and soon
lost their nervousness. Aboard ship one day Saidi came
into the dining room at lunch time and shouted to me
that the wart hogs had escaped and were on the deck.
We dashed below to the main deck and found three
of our four specimens standing in a group, bewildered at
the strange environment of a ship’s deck. We opened

[159]

WILD ANIMALS

the door of their crate and all three trotted in, apparently
well content to be home again. The fourth was missing,
and after considerable search we located him at one end
of a long coal passage, hiding behind a wheelbarrow.
We rigged a crate at one end of this passage for him to
run into, and then threw a rope over the wheelbarrow
and pulled it off quickly, to frighten him down the passage.
But instead of following our plan and going into the box
prepared, he jumped through a small hole into the stoke-
hold. This was thirty feet below us, and reached by three
flights of steel stairway. We heard several distinct
bumps, and I remarked to my companion, “Well, that
leaves us only three wart hogs.’’ Then I shouted down
the hold to the stokers, “Is it dead?”

It took some moments for the reply to be formulated
in English, but it finally came in a disconcerted, “He has
come.”

We went down the stairs and found the pig, entirely
unhurt, running back and forth, while the stokers,
Mohammedans who don’t like pigs anyway and who
furthermore did not know there were any aboard, having
paid little attention to the cargo on deck, had stopped
their work of feeding the furnace and taken positions up
the sides, where they hung like so many bunches of
grapes attached to ropes. We got a rope over the pig’s
head, lifted him up, slipped a bag beneath him, pushed
him into it, and put him back into his crate, whereupon
the stokers resumed stoking and the ship its full speed
ahead.

The four arrived in Washington in October and were
put together in one cage. They took very readily to life
in the Zoo, and lost all fear of visitors. In May the
weather had become warm, and when we opened the big
door that leads to the outside paddock all four pigs
jumped through it and started on a run for home, which
they evidently thought was just around the corner.
They did not notice the iron bars, and all of them were

[ 160 |

PLATE 48

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SOME PIGS

knocked out by hitting them. One died from spinal
injuries received in this way. We had to drive the other
three into the house, close the door, and put up a big
board fence. They soon became accustomed to the fence,
and having failed to make home through the iron bars,
have ever since been trying to root their way there.

They bred, but the young were born during a cold
snap, the mother paid no attention to them, and all five
died within a few days.!

We have had at various times East African bush pigs,
handsome and active animals, which become very tame
and friendly when handled.

Of the American pigs, the peccary is common to
practically all zoos. It lives well, becomes very tame, and
frequently breeds in captivity. I have heard of travelers
being treed by herds of these, but I have shot a female
out of a herd of fifty or more in Bolivia, caught her young
one, and held him, squealing, while I got her in the bush,
and yet they never rushed us, though the old ones champed
their jaws.

The peccary seems to be capable of attaching himself
to an individual. One I knew at Kete Purangi, on the
Rio Negro a little above Mandos, lived as one of us, a
pleasant pet except for a habit at mealtime of rooting
one’s leg beneath the table to attract one’s attention to
the fact that the pig also would dine.

One of our European wild boar lived at the Park for
fifteen years and three months. When she finally died, it
seemed incredible from the post mortem that the animal
could have lived so long with such a diseased interior as she
had. The new pair that we have now were born in
Detroit.

The pig has always been a much maligned animal. We
have heard of a little girl named Mary who was followed
to school each day by a lamb. We consider this very
doubtful, but if the lamb did follow Mary, he did so

1This year four were born and are all alive as this goes to press.

| 161 |

WILD ANIMALS

because of an instinctive need of care, of food, or of
warmth. But a little pig might have followed her through
fondness for her, just as a dog would. Of course if he had,
he never would have got into poetry. The incident would
have been considered pure comedy.

There is scarcely a farmer’s boy who has nct at some
time or another had a pet pig. Bill Barlow, for instance,
a pig that I knew of on a New England farm, was crippled
during the first weeks of his life, and was rescued from
the hog pen and taken to the kitchen where he was given
a warm place behind the stove in a box bedded with hay.
He never went back to the sties. For nearly three years
he lived with the family, sleeping with a shepherd dog
on the back porch. He used to make his own bed, bring-
ing straw in his mouth from the barnyard. He was always
at the heels of the farmer’s wife, pulling at her dress
to attract attention and sometimes following her as much
as two miles to the home of a neighbor. But the fate of
all pigs is the same. The family finances forced the sale
of Bill Barlow, and the butcher, who had no regard for
personalities, considered him simply a three-hundred-
pound porker.

Someone has said that he never knew what “‘domestic
animal” really meant until he went to Brazil, and one
can well believe it, after living in houses where pigs run
in and out but in general behave quite as well as dogs
or cats.

| 162 |

—_— —

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CHAPTER XIII
WiDr eAT VEE

WI_p cattle as a whole are interesting to the general pub-
lic because of the use that man has made of them, rather
than because of any peculiarity or intelligence in their
behavior. There is little individuality among them. One
bison is very much like another bison. The behavior of
the wild cattle is duplicated largely by that of the domestic
breeds. They are among the most docile and the most
dangerous of animals, as everybody knows who has stroked
the forehead of a gentle old milch cow and has been chased
out of a berry pasture by a bull. Twenty or thirty cen-
turies of domestication have resulted in little fundamental
change from their wild ancestors, and even today domestic
and wild species interbreed freely. They show little capac-
ity to learn from experience, though Dr. William T.
Hornaday states that the North American bison did ac-
quire a saving fear of man and some ingenuity in keeping
out of his way after they had been slaughtered almost to
the point of extermination.

At the time the animals of the incipient National
Zoological Park were quartered on the grounds of the
Smithsonian Institution, interest in the American bison
was becoming widespread on account of the danger of the
complete extermination of this typically American animal,
and in 1888 our first bison came to Washington, a gift
from the Honorable E. G. Blackford of New York City.
The records describe it as “Blind in one eye. Both horns
sawed off” when it arrived. It had been captured four
years before at Ogalalla, Nebraska.

[ 163 ]

WILD ANIMALS
The following year Dr. V. T. McGillicuddy deposited

five individuals which had been captured as calves in 1883
by the Ogalalla Sioux Indians north of the Black Hills.
There were several births from these animals, and in 1897
the herd was augmented by three specimens purchased
from Mr. M. Pablo of Ronan, Missoula County, Montana.
It is interesting to note that these animals in that day
brought a price of $500 per specimen; today the market
price is very much less. One of our early bison served as
the model for a work of art probably as much sought
after as any ever made—namely, the United States
Treasury’s ten-dollar bill, of which there were 148,958,000
printed. The drawing was made by C. R. Knight.

In later years the Zoo secured several additional bulls
and cows from Charles Goodnight’s herd in Texas, and in
1904 Buffalo Bill and J. A. Bailey deposited seven males
and five females. Some of these were subsequently re-
turned to the owner; others remained here. Specimens
of unrelated blood were secured from the Blue Mountain
Forest Association and the whole collection was divided
into two herds. Between 1890 and 1928 there have been
fifty-nine births in the two herds—thirty males, twenty-
seven females, and two still-born young, of whose sex we
have no record.

In the early days of the Zoo the herds were kept in a
large paddock, partly in the hollow along Rock Creek.
This part of the Park suffers from a great deal of heavy
fog, and many deaths from lung diseases resulted. Since
the transfer of the bison to one of the higher parts of the
Park, on clay soil, deaths have been only from natural
causes, principally old age. They live here contentedly
in a large paddock with an open shed, which gives them
sufficient shelter in very bad weather, and with plenty of
clay to wallow in, in wet weather. They enjoy this,
though visitors sometimes write us that we should remove
them from the muddy paddock to a nice valley in the
hollow along Rock Creek.

[ 164 |

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WILD CATTLE

Certain precautions are necessary in keeping buffaloes
together. The feed pans should be shallow so that when
the animal is feeding his eyes project above the top and he
can see another one rushing him. We had several casual-
ties when deeper feed pans were used. One nearly fatal
accident occurred, when a bull attacked a keeper, knocked
him unconscious, and broke several of his bones. Since
then we have had a fence of iron piping, three feet high,
placed inside of the main fence, so the keeper can duck
through when necessary. This is useful not only to keep-
ers but also to calves, for sometimes a bull would rush a
young one and kill it against the fence. But now the
threatened youngster can get beneath this iron pipe into
a safety zone.

In transferring the herd to the new paddock, several
escaped in the Park, breaking through a temporary fenc-
ing. For two hours the keepers tried to drive them into
the permanent corral, but they would not be driven until a
nurse girl, wheeling a baby carriage, hove in sight, and
frightened them all into their permanent quarters.

At one time two cows calved in two days. One mother
died, leaving a day-old orphan calf. The mother of the
other did not like the orphan, and would kick him when
he came near. But when her own calf was nursing, the
foundling would sneak up quietly from behind, avoiding
a side kick, and nurse also, nourishing himself in this way
against the wish of the cow, at least to the extent of keep-
ing alive until he was able to eat hay and grain.

At present our oldest cow is Pocahontas, now nearly
twenty-three years of age, a magnificent specimen, which,
however, has never bred. She is descended from the
Buffalo Bill stock.

When Cortes and his little band of marauders came to
Montezuma’s capital in 1521 they saw in the zoological
garden of that enlightened Aztec king an animal which
was described by de Solis, historian of the expedition, as
follows:

[ 165 |

“

WILD ANIMALS

. . . The greatest Rarity was the Mexican Bull; a wonderful com-
position of divers Animals. It has crooked Shoulders, with a Bunch
on its Back like a Camel; its Flanks dry, its Tail large, and its Neck
cover’d with Hair like a Lion. It is cloven footed, its Head armed
like that of a Bull, which it resembles in Fierceness, with no less
strength and Agility.

From this crude description we must conclude that
white men had looked for the first time on an animal
which existed on the North American continent in such
numbers that, in the words of Doctor Hornaday:

Of all the quadrupeds that have lived upon the earth, probably no
other species has ever marshaled such innumerable hosts as those of the
American bison. It would have been as easy to count or to estimate
the number of leaves in a forest as to calculate the number of buffaloes
living at any given time during the history of the species previous to
1870.

He estimates that the bull in Montezuma’s zoo must
have come from Coahuila, 500 miles to the north.

Though bison may have extended over most of the con-
tinent, the center of population was the Great Plains region
extending for more than 3,500 miles from northern Mexico
through Canada; but the great herds overflowed the
Appalachians to the Atlantic coast and went high into the
Rockies. The North American continent literally was
blanketed with them. Their only enemies were the
Indians and the wolves.

In 1870 Col. R. I. Dodge drove for twenty-five miles
along the Arkansas River through a single herd which
stretched as far as the eye could see. This great mass of
animals was composed of innumerable smaller herds of
from fifty to two hundred, and averaged fifteen or twenty
individuals to the acre. The year before had seen the
bison definitely divided into two herds by the completion
of the Southern Pacific Railroad across the prairies. The
southern herd, Hornaday estimates, numbered about
3,500,000 head and the northern herd about 1,500,000.

Then came the slaughter. Ten years later the Ameri-
can bison was almost an extinct animal. The completion

[ 166 ]

WILD CATTLE

of the Northern Pacific in 1880 was a final blow. In
October, 1883, was staged the last great bison hunt when
about 1,000 animals were killed in southwestern Dakota
by Sitting Bull and 1,000 Indians from the Standing Rock
agency. Only a few small herds were left in the entire
continent. The slaughter from 1870 on has been wasteful,
conscienceless, and indiscriminate. Thousands have been
shot for their tongues alone, which were considered a
delicacy. Hundreds of thousands were slain for their
hides, which sold for about two dollars each. The prairies
were strewn with carcasses. This wholesale murder
stopped only when bison became so scarce that it was
profitable no longer.

It was not until 1902 that Congress took the first steps
toward the preservation of these animals by appropriating
$15,000 to establish a bison reserve, under fence, in the
Yellowstone National Park. In 1907, there was a “‘tame”’
herd of 846 animals and a wild herd, seldom seen by any-
body, estimated at about 125 individuals, in the Yellow-
stone area. Since then four other reserves have been
created in the United States. These are the Wichita
National Bison Preserve in Oklahoma, which now has 197
animals; the Montana National Bison Range founded in
1909 by the National Bison Society, which now has 540
animals; the Wind Cave Preserve in South Dakota, with
139 animals; and the Niobrara, Nebraska, National Range,
with 69 animals. All these herds are increasing con-
stantly.

In Canada the Buffalo National Park was established
near Wainwright, Alberta, in 1911 with g18 bison, which
in 1925 had increased to 8,231, altogether too many for
the grazing space. As a consequence 1,634 animals were
shipped north in the summer of that year to be released
in Wood Buffalo Park just south of Great Slave Lake
and in 1926, 2,011 were added to this number.

Aware of the imminent extinction of these animals, the
Smithsonian Institution in 1887 sent an expedition under

[ 167 |

WILD ANIMALS

Doctor Hornaday, then chief taxidermist of the National
Museum, to Montana to secure both living and dead
specimens for exhibition. This was the foundation of the
bison herd in the National Zoological Park. The expedi-
tion captured one calf, two or three weeks old, which had
been abandoned by its mother because it wouldn’t keep
up with her in her flight, and it was easily tamed. Says
Doctor Hornaday:

The one captured in Montana by the writer, resisted at first as
stoutly as it was able, by butting with its head, but after we had tied
its legs together and carried it to camp, across a horse, it made up its
mind to yield gracefully to the inevitable, and from that moment
became perfectly docile. It very soon learned to drink milk in the
most satisfactory manner, and adapted itself to its new surroundings
quite as readily as any domestic calf would have done. Its only cry
was a low-pitched, piglike grunt through the nose, which was uttered
only when hungry or thirsty.

These animals are at their best as exhibits in November
and December when the new coat of hair has reached its
full growth. They begin to shed in March and look very
shabby in April, May, and June, when old hair clings in
ugly patches to the body. They are almost naked
through the summer. The calves are born in April or May
and before this event the mother always should be
removed to a separate inclosure. In the wild state, the
female always separates from the herd and hides her calf
for a few days. Afterwards the calves are kept together
near the herd, the mothers coming to them to let them
nurse. They are devoted mothers but in the old days, it
is reported, would abandon their offspring at the approach
of man. Colonel Dodge recorded one instance of a half
dozen bulls surrounding a calf to protect it from wolves.

The bison breeds freely with domestic cattle and pro-
duces fertile hybrids which tend, however, to return to the
wild type. Several efforts have been made to breed in a
bison strain in the hope of producing a hardier domestic
animal, but without permanent success. As early as 1843
Robert Wycliff of Lexington, Kentucky, was experimenting

[ 168 |

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WILD CATTLE

successfully with bison as draught animals. He told
Audubon: “I have broken them to the yoke, and found
them capable of making excellent oxen; and for drawing
wagons, carts, or other heavily laden vehicles on long
journeys they would, I think, be greatly preferable to the
common ox.

New types of draught animals, however, hardly are
pressing needs of the country just now and the ox itself is
rarely met with.

The other American animal which may be included in
the cattle family is the Arctic musk ox, occasionally seen
in captivity. Hornaday states that he gazed upon each liv-
ing musk ox in captivity with wonder, as if it were a
creature from another world. These creatures live entirely
within the Arctic Circle. The Indians of northern Canada
credit them with supernatural powers and say they can
understand human speech. Surely the capacity of these
curious beasts to obtain sustenance in the world’s sparsest
pastures is little short of supernatural.

Musk oxen are still rare in captivity, but are extremely
hardy animals, easy to keep in good health in a temperate
climate. The first to appear in Europe were captured by
a Swedish explorer on Clavering Island, off the east
coast of Greenland, in 1899. These two males were sold
to the Duke of Bedford who placed them in his acclima-
tization park and attempted without success to produce
various crosses with them. The first to come to the
United States was a female calf, about eighteen months
old, captured in 1g02 about thirty miles inland from
Lady Franklin Bay by Captain H. H. Bodfish of the
whaler Be/uga. This was presented to the New York Zoo.
In October of the same year Robert H. Peary, the future
discoverer of the North Pole, captured a young male in
northeast Greenland which he presented to the same
collection.

“The musk oxen,” says Casper Whitney, “are stupid,
mild creatures. In one little band of eight which we had

[ 169 |

WILD ANIMALS

separated from the main herd and killed, a yearling calf
ran against my legs, seemingly seeking protection from
the dogs precisely as a young sheep would.” Adults, of
course, would be extremely difficult to capture and trans-
port. They go in herds of from fifteen to fifty, which
gives them a better chance to defend themselves against
their one enemy, the Arctic wolf, and also gives them,
through close contact, warmth and protection against
the wind. They are remarkable appearing creatures with
outer hair a foot long in winter, big chocolate-brown eyes,
and purple lips and tongue tip.

We have had only two African buffaloes in the collec-
tion. One, from East Africa (Synoceros neumannti), lived
three years, and the other, from South Africa (Synoceros
caffer), has now been here for a year and a half and is still
immature. Judging from its appearance and the ease
with which it.can be kept in captivity, ten years is not
an unusual age for cage specimens. The African buffalo
is not common in collections, because of the difficulty of
capturing them.

Our one attempt to capture a young one came close
to ending in disaster. George and I were walking a
hundred yards back from the edge of Lake Meru in
Tanganyika. The shores between us and the water were
swampy and covered only with short grass. To our right
was an area of scrub about up to my chin, and beyond
this, 200 yards distant, a forest.

I heard something snort, and George said, “Look at
the buff!”

I looked for a buffalo, but told him I could not see it.

“Tt!’ he exclaimed, “There are two hundred of them
right against the forest.”

And there, sure enough, was a large mass of them,
standing in the shade of the forest at its edge.

Suddenly George said, “I am having a go at the cow
on the right. She has moto.” Moto is the East African
word for young animal.

[ 170 ]

WILD CATTLE

At the very edge of the herd I saw a cow with a little
calf beside her. George raised his gun and shot. It was
the horrible 5.75 single-barrel that he carried, which
always terrified me when he used it. Looking at the herd
I saw two hundred necks stretch out and four hundred
ears come to the front, and then a surge of the mass
toward us.

George shouted, “Look out, they are charging!’ and
started running, with me after him, though I could not
see any use in doing so, as there was no shelter to run to.
Anyway, we made a record for a hundred-yard dash in
mud shoe-top deep. We stopped eventually and listened
to the thunder of a herd of heavy animals. They came
about fifty yards in our direction, and then broke into
two herds, one of which went up the lake and the other
down.

According to the picture drawn by an artist 10,000
miles away, and reproduced in the press at the time, it
was a very thrilling adventure; and had I seen this
picture before the event, I should certainly never have
allowed George to fire into the herd.

George was sure that he had killed the cow, or at least
wounded her, so we scouted about until dark—very
cautious scouting it was, our boys climbing trees and
scanning the territory below. But it had evidently been
a miss, for we found no traces of either mother
or child.

Lyman, on his previous trip, had secured much game,
but had had bad luck as far as buffaloes were concerned,
so he particularly wanted to get one. As we were coming
one day into the hunting region, George and myself
walking a couple of hundred yards ahead of Lyman, a
bull buffalo emerged from the forest and stood in the
open as though waiting to give Lyman, who was hobbling
along with a large blister on his heel, a shot. We waved
and he hurried forward, but just before he came up the
buffalo turned slowly and disappeared into the forest.

[171]

WILD ANIMALS

After we had had our set-to with the herd, we told
Lyman about it, and he immediately moved camp farther
up the lake in the vicinity in which we had seen them.
He told me afterward that he had been afraid to shoot,
that buffalo were sprinkled all through the forest, and he
feared a charge if he hunted them. His fear was well
founded for the buffalo is, without exaggeration, the most
dangerous of all the larger animals; dangerous, in that
instead of making a blind charge he will stop and hunt out
his enemy as a dog will a rat, and will even resort to skillful
trickery when coming upon him. George told me of
wounding a female buffalo, failing to locate her, and then,
as he was walking a trail a quarter of a mile away, of
being suddenly charged by the same animal from the tall
grass. She had evidently trotted ahead and waited for
him alongside the trail.

Buffaloes are considered pests in some parts of Africa.
Where they are much hunted they are likely to charge at
any time. When I was given a “meat license’”’—a permit
to shoot certain game as food for ourselves and native
boys—officially but one buffalo was permitted, but the
warden informed me privately that in the Meru country
there was no limit. Since then I have heard that the
buffalo has been declared a pest in certain parts of Tangan-
yika, and can be shot by anyone.

There was a time when it seemed that the species was
doomed. Rinderpest spread among the herds and where
thousands had wandered only dozens remained, but it is
a prolific breeder and a long-lived animal, and has re-
established itself naturally throughout most of its former
range. In captivity they breed readily, and will cross
with domestic cattle. I heard of two of them being used
as plow animals by a planter in Rhodesia, but judging from
the disposition of the youngster that we have in the col-
lection now I should hate to plow behind that planter’s

air.
‘ We have never had a specimen of the European bison,

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WILD CATTLE

which abounded in western Europe in Caesar’s day and was
still killed occasionally in Germany during the Middle
Ages, but which never attained to anything like the num-
bers of its American cousin, and which still exists, although
on the verge of extinction. Its fate since the war is uncer-
tain. At the 1925 meeting of the International Society
for the Preservation of the Wisent, as the European bison
is called, it was reported that there were sixty healthy
animals in Europe, mostly in zoos and private estates,
and ten or fifteen still wild in the Caucasus. During the
period of hostilities the creatures were killed off purely
for meat and leather with no thought of the fate of the
species.

Before the war there were two preserves where the few
remaining animals were rigidly protected. One was the
vast hunting grounds of the Grand Duke Sergius Michailo-
vitch on the northern slope of the Caucasus, comprising
an area of nearly 2,000 square miles, where they could be
hunted only by the duke himself. The other was the
Bielowitza forest in Lithuania. In both these preserves
young animals occasionally were captured and presented
to European zoos. The Caucasus herd, containing about
700 individuals in 1914, was said to be the best. It
ranged from high alpine pastures to deep wooded valleys
along the water courses of the Bielaja and Malaja Laba
Rivers where there were numerous sulphurous springs.
These animals varied widely from the American species in
their food habits, feeding largely on the bark and twigs.of
elms and on young ferns.

An interesting instance of the capture of one of these
animals is given by A. Yermoloff, former Imperial Min-
ister of Agriculture, in the Smithsonian Institution Report
for 1906. The pregnant cows, M. Yermoloff says, leave
the herds of from four to fifteen animals just before the
birth of their calves and hide in impassable masses of
rhododendrons, from which they emerge, followed by
their offspring, after six or seven days. They have such

[173 ]

WILD ANIMALS

an intense fear of humans, however, that they will abandon
their little ones when a man approaches. Yermoloff
wished to introduce some of the blood of the Caucasus
herd among the smaller, less hardy Lithuanian animals,
and took advantage of this shortcoming of the mothers.

Bison from the Lithuanian herd, which numbered 727
in 1914, found their way more frequently into European
zoos because they were more easily captured in the marshy
country which they inhabited. Animals of both these
herds were found to breed freely with domestic cattle.
The Lithuanian herd was given stricter protection and was
in charge of a staff of keepers employed by the Govern-
ment, who patrolled the Bielowitza forest to guard against
poachers, kept the creatures supplied with rock salt, and
with hay and grain during the hard winters. In the
Caucasus only rock salt was provided and the bison were
entirely wild. Even the moderate protection given in
Lithuania resulted in a weakening of the animals, which
were smaller than their southern cousins.

The yak, or grunting ox, is another most useful animal,
making travel possible in the high mountains of Central
Asia where it is found both as a wild and as a tame
animal. It is difficult to see how the natives of these
desolate mountain valleys could do without this creature,
which feeds on the coarsest pasturage up to an elevation
of 20,000 feet, climbs through difficult passes as sure-
footed as a goat, swims icy torrents, and traverses glaciers
that would be impassable for almost any other beast of
burden. The yak’s one great drawback is that it will not
eat grain, which it could carry on its back, and con-
sequently forced marches are sometimes necessary to
prevent the animal’s perishing from hunger.

The yak does exceedingly well in captivity, even in low
altitudes, and our own herd, which has been in existence
since 1898, has no specimen in it that ever saw Tibet.
We received our earlier specimens from the Zoological
Society of London. From them numbers of young were

[174]

WILD CATTLE

born, some were sent away, some were kept in the herd.
In 1921 new blood was added in the form of a fine bull,
sent to us by the Canadian Government through J. B.
Harkin, the Commissioner of Dominion Parks. In
Canada the yak is being raised successfully. Like most
of the cattle family they are stupid and uninteresting
animals in captivity, but they deserve a conspicuous
place in a zoological collection because of the important
part they play in human economics.

[175]

CHAPTER XIV
THE TREE BROWSERS

Our experience with the giraffe in the National Zoological
Park has been exceedingly meager and even more dis-
appointing. On our recent trip to East Africa the animals
most desired were a pair of giraffes. Accordingly, I went
to Tula in southeast Tanganyika, where they are abun-
dant, and because of the strict protection given them by
the game department, unusually tame.

The best possible way to catch giraffes is to run them
with horses and lasso the young ones, or to drive them into
a compound. We were unable to use either of these
methods, and had to depend on our natives and our nets.
We worked far from camp so as not to frighten those
nearby. The first day we succeeded in surrounding a
young one, which ran back and forth in a circle of boys,
who waved spears at him and shouted valiantly. How-
ever when the baby (it was really a very small one) made
a determined rush through the line, the nearby natives,
instead of catching him as they should have done, simply
brandished their spears at him. So he got away and I
could see him run for a half mile, until he rejoined his
mother from whom he had been separated in the drive.

Our first capture was made by surrounding one about
seven feet high, and then grabbing and throwing it. We
sent to a nearby native house for a bed, a contrivance of
rope woven on four sticks. By piling this high with grass ~
it made a comfortable stretcher on which to carry the
animal to the house. We were living in a thatched native
house containing three rooms, into one of which we put

[176 ]

THE TREE BROWSERS

the giraffe. He tamed remarkably quickly, and the fol-
lowing morning had apparently lost a great deal of his fear
of us,drank milk from a basin, and ate acacia leaves. The
giraffe has three styles of kick: with his hind feet, a cow-
like swing; with his forefeet, a chop kick like a horse; and
also a straight-out football-player boot. The small one
that we had in the house used the football kick on the
walls, punting them repeatedly during the night. Though
not very secure, the house was the best place we had for
him, and in addition we posted a native guard to keep
constant watch, but he didn’t, and the giraffe got his head
and shoulders beneath a pole not more than three feet from
the ground, and wormed his way through. The last we
saw of him he was going into the scrub, and I hope he
rejoined his herd in the vicinity.

The third specimen, captured in the same way, was
likewise caged in the house, while I, resolving to have him
in a crate at once, dashed down to Dar-es-Salaam and sat
out the entire day on a chair in the shop of a Hindu car-
penter until the gigantic crate was made, and then
shipped it up the railroad. When it reached the station
there was no truck large enough to carry it eighty miles to
the giraffe at Tula, so the giraffe was brought to it, held by
natives on a truck. The railroad carried him safely in his
crate to the harbor. There we placed him at the Gov-
ernment veterinary station, in the shade of a big mimosa
tree, where he seemed contented and healthy.

A month had passed since I had communicated with
Washington, because I had nothing to tell, but on this
occasion I cabled to the Smithsonian, “‘Captured giraffe.”
An answer came by return cable, “Cable age, height, sex
of giraffe, all particulars. School children in Washington
holding contest to name it.”

To know that my baby giraffe was causing such a com-
motion in Washington filled me with apprehension. We
were going to do our best to bring it home alive, but—.

So I replied by cable, “Giraffe delicate animal, eighty
[177]

WILD ANIMALS

miles from railroad. No guarantee its arrival Wash-
ington.”

A few hours later came, “Is our giraffe a boy or girl?”
signed, ‘‘Children of Washington, care Evening Star.”

The only thing I could do was to reply, “Boy,” then
flee from the vicinity of the telegraph office.

While the natives were naming him “Mfaume,” which
means a princely emissary, the contest was going on, on
the other side of the world. One evening while at dinner,
Saidi, our head boy, dashed up and said, “Bwana, the
giraffe is in the bottom of his cage, kicking.” We grabbed
rickshaws and got there as soon as we could, found him
standing up and chewing mimosa leaves. We stayed
with him most of the night, but could see nothing wrong
with him. The next day at two o’clock, however, he
dropped dead. A post-mortem showed acute pneumonia.

I had already telegraphed to my companions in the
field, instructing them to bring all their animals to Dar-es-
Salaam that we might sail for the States. Personally I
could not come back without giraffes. So I arranged
passage for them, and resolved to stay another month
myself, just for giraffes. Swinnerton, the chief game
warden, suggested that I cable to the Sudan to see if
the game department had any for disposal. In reply
to the cable I was informed that they had a pair of giraffes
that they could let me have.

The pair was loaded at Port Sudan, and put first on
one side of the promenade deck until the weather became
cool in the middle of the Atlantic, when they were let
down into the forward coal bunker. Having seen Mfaume
drop dead, I had no confidence that I would have any
luck bringing home giraffes. Each morning when I
awoke, Saidi would be standing at the door with the
latest news on their health. They were very sensible
animals, and during some heavy seas we had they lay
down in their crates and avoided the risk of breaking their
necks or legs. Eventually they arrived in Washington,

[178 ]

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THE TREE BROWSERS

and we found that the school children had named them
“Hi-Boy” and “Dot,” and for a time they were Wash-
ington’s leading citizens. Their arrival was the out-
standing event in the history of the Zoological Park.
A christening ceremony was held, in which the little boy
and girl who had given the chosen names received their
prizes, and all records for the number of visitors were
broken during the next two months. Two gentler, prettier
creatures were never in captivity, and the boys and girls
of Washington will long remember them.

Because I was not certain I would ever get any giraffes
home alive, I had not told about number two until a
day out from Boston, when I had to wireless about it,
so that quarters would be ready. The newspaper contest
had gone on furiously, and the first giraffe named
“Hi-Boy,” and then the tired manager of the contest
had to go all through another competition to get a name
for Hi-Boy’s mate. When I met him his first remark was,
“Thank goodness, you did not bring home three.”

We constructed a cage for them at one end of our
bird house, where they had plenty of room to move about,
and Mr. Blackburne, who during his thirty-eight years at
the National Zoo had been without giraffes, stepped into
the cage with them. He petted one, and received a
vicious kick in his ribs. When he came out of the cage
I asked him if the kick had hurt, but he replied, “No,
it is a pleasure to be kicked by a giraffe in my own Zoo.”
Kidney diseases, with complications, took both of them
off in less than two years.

Besides the giraffe that lived twenty-eight years in the
circus, making an American record for longevity, many
have lived for a long time in American zoos. There is
one in the Cincinnati Zoo, still alive, born there seventeen
years ago, and a number have been born in the New York
Zoological Park.

The number of ways which a giraffe can find to injure
himself is remarkable. One in the zoo at Calcutta reached

[179]

WILD ANIMALS

up to get a leaf from a tree in his inclosure, caught his neck
in a forked branch, and hanged himself.

It is singular that giraffes live as well as they do in
captivity, because they are among the most specialized
feeders of all animals, subsisting in their native state
entirely on the leaves of the mimosa, whereas in captivity
they must be fed on hay and grain.

Mr. Blackburne recalls the difficulties of caring for
giraffes in the old circus days: -

During the years 1882, 1883, and 1884 the Barnum and
Bailey Circus carried with it the largest number of
giraffes ever seen together in this country. It had ten
fine specimens that were kept while on exhibition in a
small square tent (marquee) with a heavy cord mesh
front. These animals were led around the hippodrome
track in the grand entry, with such animals as Jumbo;
Columbia, the first baby elephant born in the United
States; its mother, Hebe; and twenty-four other elephants,
plus yaks, zebras, llamas, camels, and so on.

The giraffes were generally somewhat frisky and often
displayed their awkward dancing, kicking, and striking.
These animals were not kept in a cage as they are at
present in traveling shows, but each animal was blanketed
and led from the show grounds to the railroad, and there
loaded into a specially constructed car, heavily padded
on all sides to prevent injury while the train was in
motion. This loading and unloading presented the most
dificult problem in the handling of giraffes. The unload-
ing was particularly hard, as they would stand and look
from the car door for some little time before they could
make up their minds to risk coming down the gangplank,
and when they did come, no one knew just where their
feet were going to land.

The herd gradually decreased through an occasional
death. Several were deposited in the Central Park
Menagerie, where they eventually died from lack of
proper quarters. In the end only one of the lot was

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carried with the circus and it was confined to a cage,
with a small pen erected at the rear end to allow the
animal a chance to exercise and get on the earth during
show hours. This seems to be the best and safest way to
handle giraffes.

Judging from the records, giraffes have always been
rare in captivity. Only one was included in five shiploads
of wild animals—lions, leopards, buffaloes, and monkeys—
brought to the Egyptian Queen Hatasu, of the Eighteenth
Dynasty, from “the country of the Somalis.” Rameses
the Second, of the Nineteenth Dynasty, owned one speci-
men. The first seen in Europe was obtained from Alex-
andria by Julius Caesar and exhibited to the crowds
who expected, from the name “camelopard,” to find a
combination of the size of the camel and the ferocity of
the leopard. Pliny, who described it, echoed the public
disappointment. “It was as quiet,” he wrote, “‘as a sheep.”
Doubtless a few more of these animals found their way
to Rome through Egypt, but the records are obscure.

After the fall of the Roman Empire the few giraffes
seen in Europe were gifts from Eastern sultans and pashas.
The prince of Damascus gave one to the Emperor
Frederick II in 1215. The Sultan of Egypt presented one
to Lorenzo the Magnificent, which became the pet of
Florence. It was allowed to walk through the streets
and take presents of fruit and cakes extended to it from
the balconies. Then the giraffe drops out of European
records for five centuries and many persons must have
considered it a fabulous monster akin to the dragon and
the griffon. It did not reappear until 1827 when the
Pasha of Egypt sent one each as gifts to Constantinople,
Venice, England, and France. The Parisians went wild
with excitement over the Pasha’s present. It had spent
the winter at Marseilles and throve there on the milk of
four cows which the Pasha had sent over from Egypt for
its use. The prefect of Marseilles had the arms of France

[ 181 |

WILD ANIMALS

embroidered on its body cloth. It entered Paris escorted
by a Darfur negro, an Arab, a Marseilles groom, a mulatto
interpreter, a professor from the Jardin des Plantes, and
the prefect himself. Around the creature’s neck was a
band of parchment upon which were written several
passages from the Koran, designed as a charm against all
illnesses and mishaps, particularly those due to malevolent
enchantment.

It was the sensation of the year. Troops were called
out to hold back the crowds. All Paris came to see the
animal. Artists painted it and poets wrote verses about
it. Clothing designers copied the delicate markings of
its coat. La robe a la giraffe, le chapeau a la giraffe, and le
peigne a la giraffe appeared in the stores. The animal
even became a factor in politics. The opposition party
struck medals bearing the figure of the giraffe and the
words, “Nothing is changed in France; there is only one
more beast.” Parisians gradually became accustomed to
this animal, which survived for nearly twenty years.

[ 182]

CHAPTER XV

ANTLERS AND HORNS

TWENTY-sIx species of deer have been exhibited at various
times in the Park, and literally hundreds of specimens
born here. Practically all our deer are kept in outdoor
paddocks, even tropical species such as the sambar, one
of which lived for sixteen years out-of-doors, the axis, and
the Indian swamp deer or barasingha. A Japanese deer,
the head of the herd, which has been living now for twenty
years and seven months, holds the record for this family
here.

Gentle in disposition throughout most of the year, in the
fall the males often become so fierce that it is necessary
to dehorn them. At one time our elk bulls started on a
rampage and killed a number of females and calves. We
had to rope and dehorn five bulls in one morning.

Though the handling of the deer family in captivity con-
sists mainly of routine work, it is not altogether uneventful.
It was the ordinary European red deer that kicked the head
keeper in the face, removing most of the skin, when he
was tying the animal to dehorn it. There was an inter-
ested audience outside watching the operation, so the
keeper, whose circus experience had told him that “the
show must go on,” kept at work with one eye useless from
blood, and dehorned the animal before leaving for first aid.

The first male Virginia deer in the collection came to
the Park as a gift. There was no place ready for him, so
he was put in the beaver inclosure, out of which he im-
mediately jumped. The head keeper decoyed him half-

way across the Park and into another inclosure by giving

[ 183 |

WILD ANIMALS

him nibbles of fine-cut tobacco from time to time. To-
bacco seems as choice a tidbit to deer as it is to bears,
and apparently, in small quantities, does them no harm.

Our herd of red deer had a curious origin. An English
sportsman in the Northwest had unwittingly violated a
game law. The warden, no respecter of persons, seized
his equipment, and the local judge fined him heavily. He
came to Washington to protest at the Embassy, and during
his stay visited the Park and noticed the absence of
European red deer. When he returned to England he
sent a pair as a gift to the Park. Often, as we gaze at an
empty cage, we long for another Englishman to abuse.

The Philippine have proved the most interesting of the
tropical deer. One of these was captured in the mountains
of Abra Province by Igorrotes with nets, and another one,
from Luzon, which had been a mascot on the Battleship
Iowa, was presented by Rear Admiral R. D. Evans,
U.S.N., in 1904, and lived for thirteen years.

We have always had specimens of the most beautiful of
all of the deer, the axis, which although it inhabits the
warmer parts of Asia, does very well out-of-doors here.

Our herd of the Indian hog deer was started from speci-
mens that had been raised in the New York Zoological
Park, and for twenty-one years has increased in numbers.

Two Panama deer did not do so well. The little Brazilian
brocket requires a heated house, and even with this our
longest-lived specimen has barely exceeded two years.

Roe deer have never done well at our Zoo. The Euro-
pean fallow deer thrives.

The Park’s present thriving herd of American elk was
started in 1888, when the Honorable W. F. Cody, “Buffalo
Bill,” presented a trio. Four years later four pairs were
captured in the Yellowstone National Park and sent to
us by Captain George S. Anderson, at that time superin-
tendent. Five years later the Captain sent a number of
other specimens. From this original stock no less than
110 young have been born at the Park and sent away in

[ 184]

PLEADE 33

Inyala from Rhodesia. At present unique in collections

I
*

pasts

a we x,
io

a
j “=

ANTLERS AND HORNS

exchange at various times to other zoos, game preserves,
and private parks. The American elk is no longer in
danger of extermination. Even in small inclosures, and
with reasonable care, it can be depended upon to increase
in number.

It has always been a dangerous animal in the park. I
remember at the London Zoo a large sign warning visitors
that the male elk on exhibition was a particularly danger-
ous animal, and this is true. At the same time it is the
most magnificent of all its family.

Even fiercer than the American elk is our specimen of
Kashmir deer, which 1s descended from a pair presented
to us by the Duke of Bedford in 1916. No animal in the
Park shows such concentrated, venomous hatred as this
animal during the fall and winter when the velvet is off
his horns. It seems a pity to have to dehorn him each
year, because he bears the most magnificent antlers of any
specimen in the collection. His snort of hatred seems to
come from his very soul, and during the mating season he
emits a roar not unlike the snarl of a leopard. At home
he lives at elevations as great as 12,000 feet during the
summer, but he does very well in our climate.

The Bedford deer has been with us for ten years, though
it has not proved a good breeder. Four arrived in 1916,
and the herd now numbers only five.

The only thoroughly domesticated deer is the celebrated
reindeer, which in legend draws the sleigh of Santa Claus,
and in reality the sleighs of the Laplanders, and whose
peculiar qualities have made possible human habitation
in large areas on and above the Arctic Circle. Though
familiar to all of us from early childhood, it is only within
recent years that there have been large importations
of these animals into the United States, principally for
the purpose of providing Christmas atmosphere in de-
partment stores and city streets during the Holidays.
The remainder of the year they are deposited in zoos,
where they do not, as a rule, live well. No animal seems

[185 ]

WILD ANIMALS

more plagued by stable flies than they, and the aver-
age specimen that comes in is already badly infested
with warbles. Our herd came direct from Norway five
years ago, at that time about three years old. They
were placed in a rangy paddock on a slope with a moist
area at the bottom, and at first fed on hay, grain, and
reindeer moss, which was secured from Maine. The moss
has proved unnecessary for these animals in captivity,
and since we have discontinued feeding it our herd has
done quite as well. Two have been born here. One died
of acute indigestion and one as the result of an
accident.

The reindeer’s close relative, the Newfoundland caribou,
the only species we have had, has been represented in our
collection a half dozen times. One, secured through the
United States consul, Martin J. Carter, at St. John’s,
Newfoundland, lived nearly ten years.

Of all the ten American moose that the National Park
has had, none has lived more than two years, and most
of them have died the same year they were received.
It is regrettable that such a magnificent and apparently
hardy animal should be so delicate in captivity, but it is
so, even when provided with a pond and given birch
browse as food, and I do not believe that the moose
should be considered a fit animal for a zoo. Of course
an occasional specimen, under special conditions, has
lived longer. The difficulty of obtaining its natural food
can hardly be surmounted outside of its own country.

We frequently get inquiries as to whether we can
furnish surplus specimens of the Japanese or Sika deer.
People with private herds, as well as other public parks,
want fresh blood in their herds. To this we always reply
that there is no herd of Sikas in America that does not
have the blood of our herd in it. The Japanese deer, one
of the most adaptable of all its family to captivity, has
been represented in the National Zoological Park since
1905, when a pair was secured. Two years later an

[ 186 ]

uvuusjiods ysisuy ue Aq pajuaseaid 1399p pet uvadoiny

tS ALVId

PEATE 55

Upper: Kashmir deer, from the Duke of Bedford collection.
he has to be dehorned every year

Lower: Axis deer from Asia, most beautiful of his tribe

ANTLERS AND HORNS

additional female was bought, and from this trio and
their descendants have been raised upwards of sixty
young.

Many of the casualties among the Park’s deer have
been caused by dogs, a subject on which Mr. Blackburne
has some vivid recollections:

During the early days of the Park the boundary fence
consisted of oak palings and there were no gates at any
of the entrances, so that intruders had access at all hours.
Back of the Park grounds were some scattered shacks
inhabited by people who owned many dogs. The latter
frequently paid visits by night, and amused themselves
by racing around the deer inclosures, barking, and
causing the deer to dash about their pens and run into
the fencing, sometimes breaking their necks or their
legs.

On one occasion a pack of dogs dug their way under
the fencing and got into the Virginia deer inclosure.
The following morning two of the deer were found dead,
one with a broken neck, the other hanging by one hind
leg in the fencing, disemboweled by the dogs. Three
other deer were unable to move, owing to compound
fractures of the legs, and had to be shot.

At another time a large bulldog dug under the fencing
and got into the Sika deer inclosure. He maimed a couple
of the females and then attacked the buck, who at the
time had a good pair of sharp spiked antlers, which he
proceeded to use. One of the prongs penetrated the
dog’s belly, and he was so weakened that he was unable
to make his escape. He was found lying in the ravine,
quite helpless but ready to fight. We dispatched him
without sorrow.

One day about noon a male mule deer, of which we have
several from Arizona, became frightened and leaped over a
seven-foot wire fencing which surrounded his quarters.
Keepers were gathered and the chase began. It led through
the wooded section now occupied by the Bureau of Stand-

[ 187 ]

WILD ANIMALS

ards, and towards Chevy Chase Circle. Without exertion
the deer outdistanced the keepers and at dark the chase
was given up. Four days later, on New Year’s Day at
12:30 a. m., a street-car conductor discovered the deer
making his way into the Park.

The board boundary fencing was eventually replaced
by a Page wire fence, gates were placed at all entrances,
and the watch force increased. Only occasionally now a
dog gets into the Park, and the invaders have caused no
serious accidents recently.

The prong-horned antelope, native to the plains and
hills of the Western United States has many superficial
points of resemblance to the true antelopes, yet it differs
from the latter so essentially that it has been placed in a
separate family. This interesting animal has come very
close to extinction, and its preservation constitutes a most
dificult problem. It is an animal of the wide open spaces,
and of herds, and apparently can survive only under
these conditions.

The Report for 1927 of the American Bison Society
gives an account of a herd of ten of these antelopes
purchased in Alberta and placed in the Wichita game
preserve in Oklahoma. Shortly after their arrival six of
them died, so in 1922 six more were purchased. Five of
these died a few days after their arrival, leaving a total
of five. In 1924 three pairs of twins were born and four
of the old animals died. In 1926 ten fawns were born,
so that in 1927 there was a total of seventeen head, a
total increase over the original accessions of only one in
five years. These figures show clearly that the preserva-
tion of this animal is a difficult problem, and it is obvious
that zoological gardens can do little to help, since the
creature certainly will not remain long alive in small
inclosures.

We have never had much success in maintaining the
prong-horned antelope in Washington. The first herd we

[ 188 |

PLATE 56

Upper: American pronghorn antelope. Does poorly in zoos
Lower: Young Philippine deer from Luzon

SOUSNOAISU ITOYI skv.aq asod I9yy “sy

1S)

nq YIP Io sadojajur uvIpUyT opeuoy

$ ALVId

™

ANTLERS AND HORNS

received consisted of three males and three females, sent
by the superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park
on December 10, 1896. The last of these died April 25,
1g02, making a record of a little over five years for this
species. Altogether we have had thirty-six in the collec-
tion, six of which were born here. One of them broke
its leg during its life at the Zoo. This was put in splints,
and apparently healed, for the animal lived for two years
afterward, until a mule deer in an adjoining paddock
leaped over a fence and gored it to death.

A number of young ones have come to us from Nevada,
where they had been caught and raised by hand. They
are usually gentle and tame, feed well and appear hardy,
yet for some reason they have never thrived. Pneumonia
has carried some off, but for the most part accidents have
been the cause of death. They are very nervous, and a
number of ours have jumped into the fence and died
from the resultant injuries.

It is considered necessary to keep these animals in a
dry paddock and away from green grass. Under these
conditions they may do quite well, but on the whole they
are very unsatisfactory to have in the collection.

The black buck of India, a medium-sized antelope, on
the other hand, makes a most successful exhibit. Speci-
mens of this antelope are nearly always in the collection,
and they live remarkably well out-of-doors in the climate
of Washington. ‘Twenty-one of them have been born in
the history of our Park, but curiously the most prolific
pair of parents that we have had always refused to take
care of the young, and would either butt it or kick it, so
that most of them were killed before we could take them
away. One that we succeeded in rescuing in time was
raised on a bottle, and is now a fine adult male. The first
specimen we ever received came from the zoological garden
at Philadelphia in 1897, in exchange for four beavers.

The white-bearded gnu abounds throughout most of
Tanganyika. With our file of boys we had marched from

[ 189 ]

WILD ANIMALS

Umbugwe, on the flat, arid plain, to a mimosa forest,
and then three hours through forest and swamp, when
we emerged suddenly on the open shore of the most
delightful lake in the world, Lake Meru. Every traveler
discovers the most wonderful lake in the world, and there
is no reason why he should not, because each has its own
particular charm for the traveler at the moment of
discovery. So Meru, thirty miles long and four miles
wide, so shallow that one could wade clear across it in
many places, and with heavily saline waters, is to me the
last word in African lakes.

As we came out of the woods, there jumped up in front
of us three wart hogs, and then to the left we saw a small
herd of kongoni, and beyond them a group of about
150 white-bearded gnu. The kongoni disappeared into
the woods. The gnu started ahead of us on the shores of
the lake, and from then on until we arrived at our camp-
ing place, Magi-Motu (hot springs) with its springs of
hot and very sulphurous water coming out of the moun-
tain side, we were never out of sight of herds of these
animals. They would run along in front of the safari,
zig-zagging back and forth. Two or three old males,
guardians of the herd, hung behind, and they would
prance toward us, brandishing their horns and waving
their tails, then turn around and gallop toward the herd,
shortly to repeat the threatening gestures.

One evening, as we came back toward camp from the
hunt, this herd, running ahead’ of us, turned along an
estuary of the lake and ran perhaps a quarter of a mile
into a copse of wood. We were at the bend and saw
them, and it occurred to us that if we could get them
separated we might have a chance at one of the several
young we had noticed, so George and J, together with
six natives, squatted behind a bush. The other boys
made a big detour through the woods, came out behind
the herd, and suddenly charged at them, shouting. They
ran in our direction, almost in a mass, which, by the time

[ 190 ]

PLATE 58

Upper: White-bearded gnu in Africa, when captured
Lower: After two years in Washington, a dangerous animal

——

—— rr’

uos pue TOUYIB oT ‘dasys Areqieg Io ‘pepnoy

os ALVId

ANTLERS AND HORNS

they reached us, had become a thundering charge. When
they were a hundred yards in front the eight of us jumped
out at them with loud shouts, and the herd broke into
150 parts. Most of them whizzed by us. Since then,
after seeing more of the gnu in captivity, I have wondered
why one of the males did not horn us incidentally in
passing. They were within eight or ten feet of us, and
the gnu is no coward. Yet no one was hurt. Some broke
to the left and went into the water, and we cut a yearling
off from the shore. He started swimming toward the
other side of the bay, making better time than we could,
and disappeared into very thick cane. But he had to
beat it down as he went, so that by taking advantage of
the opening he had made, we soon came upon him where
he had paused to rest, and dropped a lariat over him.
He was tired and I ordered the boys to stand back until
he had rested a bit. He recovered remarkably quickly,
and the next thing we knew he was charging in my
direction, with a pair of four-inch, perfectly straight,
sharp horns pointing at my middle. With what I con-
sider great presence of mind, I sat down in a foot-and-a-
half of water, and he passed over me. Then we seized
him. Four boys took him on their shoulders, carried him
into camp and picketed him to a tree until they could
build a small corral.

Our movie man had stayed in camp this day, and when
we told him of the wonderful charge of the herd he was
all for having a picture of it, so the next day we went out
to repeat the performance. We left him hiding in the
place that we had occupied the previous day. Then we
made a long detour, hoping to round up the herd as
before, but they would have none of it, and after many
miles of walking, attempting to get in back of the gnu,
Wwe gave it up.

At night our captured gnu barked a number of times,
and we could hear the nearby herd answering. The
corral was not too strongly made at first, and he kept

[191 ]

WILD ANIMALS

breaking through nearly as fast as we could piece it up,
but in a day or two he appeared to become entirely
reconciled to camp life, lost his fear of us, and while
never very tame, could be readily handled.

At the end of the safari, when we got ready for the long
trip back to where our automobiles were parked, we
constructed a hammock for our gnu, an affair made out
of burlap sacking fastened to two long poles and with
four holes punched in it for his legs. Four boys carried
the poles, and another one stood at his head. He looked
uncomfortable at first, but as we walked along, sometimes
on soggy ground, sometimes where it was rough, and
always with sharp grass that would cut our bare knees,
we often envied him riding in luxury in his hammock.

As we journeyed down the lake shore on our return to
Umbugwe where our automobiles had been parked, this
same herd kept running in front of us, zigzagging back
and forth until at the end of the evening they had covered
many times the distance that we had, walking in a more
direct line, and they were tired. Suddenly, from their
position perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead of us, they
decided to get back between us and the lake. They turned
around and came thundering toward us. There was a
universal shout of “Mfoto” from our boys, and they
raced in the direction of the herd, which in turn went
into the lake. There was mud six inches deep, and ninety
boys mingled with 150 wildebeeste splashing in the muddy
water offered a wonderful sight. The grand finale saw
the herd, now on shore again, get together and gallop
madly away, while five little groups of boys in the water
each held a live, kicking and bawling baby gnu. This is one
of the times when an animal collector’s heart is almost
frothy in its lightness, while the movie man’s heart is
bowed down in sorrow. At the first cry of “Mfoto” all
our baggage had gone skyrocketing into the air, cameras,
tripods, and other photographic paraphernalia with the
rest. It was several days before I had the nerve to look

[ 192 |

PLATE 60

the

eS 4
— & * ae

Upper: Rocky Mountain sheep or bighorns. Father, mother, and
yearling
Lower: Mother and child

19 ALVId

ANTLERS AND HORNS

into the box that contained a portable typewriter. The
camera man hurriedly got his apparatus together and had
the camera set up just when everything was over and I
was sprawled on the last gnu, tying him.

We had used up our available ropes on the first three.
The fourth I had tied with cloth, hurriedly bargained
for from the native who had considered it a suit of clothes
up to that time, it being the least rotten rag that any of
our boys wore. For the last I was using my belt, and
just had it affixed to one foreleg, when I heard a plain-
tive, “Get some action in that, Bill” from the camera
man. I let the antelope get up so that I might throw
him again for the benefit of the film, but he legged it
away, and the last we ever saw of him or my belt was
as they both passed over the top of a little ridge in the
direction of the herd.

One little gnu, separated from the rest, got beyond
his depth in water and struck out swimming, our boys
after him, but he kept ahead of them, and made a semi-
circle, which we estimated at considerably more than a
mile, and rejoined the others on the beach far beyond
our reach, giving a most extraordinary exhibition of
swimming power for a young antelope.

During the rest of the safari we picketed the young
ones outdoors, where they grazed and gave no trouble
at all. At Umbugwe we put them into a native house
until we made crates, and then took them by automobile
the 203 miles to Dodoma, our base camp, where we rented
the back yard of our next-door neighbor for them until
we started home.

One of them had been severely horned in the flanks,
probably by one of the younger bulls of his herd, and
despite veterinary treatment on the part of the Govern-
ment doctor, he died. The other three at first lost flesh,
due to entirely new diet.

The first thing to do with a young antelope is to get it
in good condition, but these refused any native grains

[ 193 ]

WILD ANIMALS

that we could buy. Finally we discovered that they
would eat an American brand of oatmeal which comes to
Africa in sealed tins, so for a month each was fed a tin
of this a day. They became fat, eventually took to eating
matama, and arrived in Washington the thriftiest of all
our antelopes.

A pair of them have since lived out-of-doors for two
years and developed into unusually handsome specimens.
The male, though still not adult, is one of the most
vicious individuals in our collection. We use a fairly
light wire mesh rather than bars in these paddocks.
Most antelopes let it alone, but Husky has developed a
habit of charging the visitors, and incidentally ripping up
the fence, so we had to put a heavy metal bar inside to
keep him from it.

Recently, while at a committee meeting, I was in-
formed by telephone that Husky had seriously gored his
keeper, and hurrying to the hospital, I found the boy
there. The gnu’s quarters are so arranged that we can
lock the animals either in the building or in the yard,
depending on which is being cleaned. The keeper in this
case was in the shed. The gnu was a hundred yards
away in the yard, apparently asleep, so he took a chance
and got eight feet into the yard, and the next thing he
knew the young antelope was upon him. The wound
afterwards proved to be not serious, but we know that
in a year or so more we will have to double the strength
of the inclosure for Husky.

The gnu is a heavy feeder, and on the voyage home,
when I had become very much depressed at the small
amount some of the antelopes were eating, I could always
cheer myself up by sitting in front of one of the gnu
crates and watching the antelope store away great portions
of edibles. The gnu is a grazing animal and thrives on hay
and grain.

We have had all three species, the white-bearded, the
brindled, and the white-tailed. One of the latter lived

[ 194 |

ANTLERS AND HORNS

for thirteen years in an open paddock with only a tight
unheated shed for shelter in winter. Even in his declining
years he would occasionally have wild fits of leaping
about and barking in his paddock and fighting the bars
or his keeper. He had the common vice of most antelopes
in captivity, of working on the front of his cage with his
horns, wearing them down or breaking them off. Our
brindled gnu has broken off one of his horns in this
manner. Our lechwe from Rhodesia has worn his down
to a third their natural thickness. So general is the habit
that I have seen few antelopes in cages that have not
mutilated one or both of their horns.

One evening after the day’s work at Tula a messenger
came in from the railroad, bringing a pile of letters from
home. There was one from Mr. Baker with news from
the Zoo, all good news. Congress had approved a new
building for our birds; a collection of nice things had
come in from the East Indies as the gift of a naval officer;
and we had finally exchanged the baby hippopotamus,
which had been very much surplus (he was in the way
because there was no place to keep him). In a foot-note
at the bottom of the letter I read, “I do hope that you
can secure some impallas, for I have always remembered
them as the daintiest and most graceful of all antelopes.”’
It so happened that that morning we had captured five
of them for the first time after many attempts. As I read
the letter they were all inclosed in a tight corral we had
made by driving stakes in the ground and roofing them
with nets.

Impalla hunting with nets is most exciting. Time after
time as we sat behind the line, waiting to see what the
boys would drive out of the woods, impallas had appeared.
Nine times out of ten they would break through the line
of boys and disappear with flying bounds. Sometimes
they would come head on, and then gaily sail over the
net. But this morning five jumped too short, got tangled,
and were ours.

[195]

WILD ANIMALS

The delicate legs of the impalla, which are so easily
broken, make it a difficult animal to transport, and we
had no confidence that we would get any of these home
alive, but the boys put them on their shoulders, and we
returned to camp.

The natives love to dance. We liked to have them
dance, as it showed they were in good spirits, and as the
African dance at Tula is the only dance that I was ever
able to learn, I used to join with them. On this occasion,
just as we came into the camp, they started a wild cele-
bration. The capture of five antelopes in the course of a
half hour was almost too good to be true. They knew
there would be some extra presents distributed that
evening, and they broke into spontaneous gaiety. Those
who had no spears robbed the nearest corn patch of its
stalks, and waved them instead. It was all very gay
until I suddenly noticed that even the boys who were
carrying the impallas were dancing. It is not good for a
delicate, newly-caught animal to be danced with, and I
tried to make them stop. My knowledge of Swahili is
not too good. They kept on dancing, and when I finally
lost my temper, stamped, and waved my arms, they
thought that was merely another kind of dance and kept
right on. However, we finally got the antelopes into the
boma, where to our great surprise they were comparatively
quiet.

The following day they fed, and we eventually crated
them and brought them home, arriving at Boston with
all five of them. Two are still with us, contented and
thriving, despite their very great nervousness. Because
of their high-jumping abilities we have not been able to
give them open paddocks, having no fence in the Zoo
that they could not jump over.

In the field the impallas may always be counted on for
a surprise movement. One sees them grazing and the
next instant they will start off, making prodigious leaps
in the air as they go. Apparently this is a great waste

[ 196 ]

ee eee

—————— TO ee

Aqtanndes ur Aqyraasuoy 10j psooai v aq 03 34sno0yT, “yoopped ayy ut savad uaaaya saqyye daays ureyunow vuozuy

9 ALW Id

PLATE 63

try 2

ORES ae Boe

The gemsbok, one of the handsomest of the African antelopes

ANTLERS AND HORNS

of effort on their part, and yet it probably saves many
of them, because they are exceedingly difficult to shoot.
George had twitted me about a miss I had made, and a
half hour later he tried for an impalla, which is, inci-
dentally, one of the best eating game that we found,
and also missed, so when I returned to him the sarcasm
he had given me, he replied in explanation, ‘‘Well, there
is an awful lot of space around an impalla.”

The day a native brought in our first and only reed
buck, a thin baby antelope, we were in the field, and
every container we had was full. So all we could do was
to picket him to a tree, where for three days and nights
he tried to break his neck on the rope. He afterwards
became a camp pet, and during the voyage home we put
him in the crate with one of the younger impallas, a
thing one should never do, by the way, because they are
very likely to cut each other with their hoofs in any excite-
ment. However, these two lived amicably. Their feeding
habits presented a striking contrast, the reed buck eating
largely, while for days it seemed that a leaf or two of
alfalfa was all that the impalla would eat. We kept
them in the same cage in Washington for about a year,
when the reed buck, having developed neat little horns,
took to charging the other, so we had to separate
them.

Perhaps the most magnificent of antelopes are the East
African eland and Livingstone’s eland. The latter has
been represented in our collection by six specimens. The
Duke of Bedford presented the Park with two pairs from
his herd at Woburn Abbey, England. Of these a female
lived for ten years and a bull for nine, and this pair
produced two young, one of which was sent to the zoo
at Philadelphia. We have had three specimens of the
East African eland, two of which were received from
Henry Tarlton of Nairobi, British East Africa, in 1909.
Our third specimen we brought back from East Africa
in 1926. It was caught young and took six bottles of

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WILD ANIMALS

milk a day—two in the morning, two at noon, and two
at night—when captured. It lived only six months in
Washington.

Our experience with elands has not been strikingly
successful, but in other zoos, and especially on large
private estates, they have done well. Even in parts of
Africa where the species has disappeared in the wild
state, it is still preserved in small herds on farms.

The dainty chamois, which occurs in the Alps, has been
represented by seven specimens in the history of the
Park. In 1909 five of them were given by the Swiss
Government to the United States Government, and two
were born from these.

Practically every zoological garden exhibits the aoudad,
or Barbary sheep, often in large herds, and it makes a
most desirable addition to the collection because of its
grace of form and its tremendous beard. It breeds almost
as readily as domestic sheep. We have had specimens
since the early days of the Zoo. Twelve to sixteen years
are not unusual periods for the species to live in
captivity.

If possible even better fitted than the aoudad for captiv-
ity is the tahr. This inhabitant of the Himalayas takes to
confinement almost as readily as any domesticated animal,
and a zoo which has started with a pair of these always
has them upon its list labeled “surplus.”

An interesting variety of domestic sheep, the Barbados,
a species clothed with hair instead of wool, was long ex-
hibited in the Park, having been received as a gift of the
United States Department of Agriculture from their ex-
perimental farm at Bethesda, Maryland. Many were born,
some were exchanged, but as is often the case among a
little herd of animals in a zoo, the race finally died out.
The last survivor was a male that had been sent out to
be used as food for animals in 1911. He lived until 1925,
when he died of old age.

The Rocky Mountain sheep, commonly called the big-

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ANTLERS AND HORNS

horn, usually does not do very well in captivity, but
we have had singular success with a small herd kept on
a high dry hilltop, sheltered in inclement weather only
by a roof, and fed, of course, on hay and grain. The
paddock is divided by a wire with an opening at either
end, through which smaller ones may escape when pur-
sued by the others. This makes it impossible for one «to
corner another, and we have had no casualties, so that
at the present time our herd consists of ten, of which
seven were born in the Park, and four are grandchildren.
One male, the father of five young in the Park, lived a
little over seven years, finally dying of old age. Another
one lived seven and a half years, coming here as an adult
specimen, a gift of the Canadian Government, through
Mr. J. B. Harkin, Commissioner of Canadian National
Parks.

Our record for longevity in the bighorns was held by
an Arizona mountain sheep (Ovis canadensis gaillardi), a
ram from the Colorado Indian reservation, which was
captured when about eighteen months old by an Indian
and sold for ten dollars. He lived from September 18,
1917, to May 2, 1927, when he died of double pneumonia
and pleuritis. He showed his age, with his horns badly
worn from butting into the inclosure posts, but at the
same time he was a gentle animal, friendly with his keeper
and with visitors.

Besides these we have had the Mexican mountain
sheep (Ovis mexicana) and Nelson’s sheep (Ovis nelsoni).
We have succeeded in keeping neither of these species
longer than two years. Hornaday has described the
mountain sheep as “of ruminant animals the philosopher-
in-chief.” In nature it inhabits high mountains in grass
belts just above the timber line and formerly was hunted
very much by the Indians for the sake of its fleece. It
is now protected throughout practically all its range, so
there is no danger of extermination. At Banff it comes
down into the settlements, and I understand that the

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WILD ANIMALS

specimens which the Canadian Government sent us were
trapped there.

The mouflon (Ovis europaeus) is the only member of
the wild-sheep family inhabiting Europe. It is confined
to the islands of Sardinia. and Corsica, where it has been
hunted almost to the point of extermination. However,
the mouflon in captivity breeds readily, and it runs no
danger of extinction. It is reported that occasionally
wild mouflons desert their own kind to live in the herds
of Sardinian shepherds, and sometimes a motherless
domestic lamb has been known to seek companionship
among a flock of mouflons. Handsome animals, they are
popular in zoos, though it is a fearsome sight to see the
old ram charge his keeper. When his horns hit a bucket
held out as a protection, they make a sound which rever-
berates around the whole Park.

The mountain goat from our Northwest as a rule
proves very delicate. Of the twelve we have had in the
Park, most of them gifts of the Canadian Government,
few have lived over two years, but the two males still
living have been here now for six. One born here, whose
mother died immediately after its birth, was raised on a
bottle, and it lived for four years, dying at the end of
that time from pneumonia. It is curious how pneumonia
attacks such animals as these, accustomed in nature to
withstand all the rigors of a high mountain climate.

Our males are very fond of climbing to the top of a
big pile of rocks in their paddock, and one will remain
motionless for long periods of time, so that visitors,
noticing his absence, have asked whether we have removed
the statue they had seen there on an earlier visit.

The Alpine ibex generally does well, and our speci-
mens have bred, but so far neither of the young has lived
longer than six months. We do not know why.

The other ibexes we have not had in the Zoo, though I
once obtained a pair of specimens in Sinai. It is singular
how these animals have persisted on the limited mountain

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ANTLERS AND HORNS

ranges of this part of the world for thousands of years,
without any protection other than their ability in moun-
tain climbing and their furtiveness. They are still killed
from time to time by the Arabs, and on our trip we had
no difficulty in obtaining plenty of horns, but we did not
come upon any live animals ourselves, despite days of
climbing from one mountain crest to another. An Arab
brought in two little ones, selling us one, but insisting on
keeping the other to kill and eat, as he stated the meat of
a young ibex would cure his fever. Usually one has, or
should have, a certain sympathy for the beliefs of people
among whom he is living. Though this was years ago I
am still glad to know that the meat of this dainty little
animal did not do him any good. The specimen we had
was unable to stand the Jolting of a long camel ride. It
died about a week after we had secured it.

The habits of most of these sheep and goats in captivity
are very much the same. They eat, stroll around the
paddock, climb a pile of rocks if one is provided for them,
and the males from time to time try to butt the keepers.
The sheep in general are hardier than the goats.

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CEAPEER XVI

SOME RHINOS THE PARK
HAS NOT HAD

TuE history of the rhinoceroses that we have had at the
National Zoological Park is very short. The temporary
deposit by the Forepaugh Circus of its animals at the
National Zoo afforded an opportunity for the only time
in our history of exhibiting a Sumatran rhinoceros
(Dicerorhinus sumatrensis). Later on, an African black
rhinoceros (Diceros bicornis) was purchased. It was
never in good health and died after a year and seven
months at the Zoo. A post-mortem showed an abnormal
structure of the teeth and jaws, as well as the intestinal
trouble which had caused its death.

The rhinoceroses that we have not had, but have tried
to get, make a longer story. Year after year we have
sought one from our Congressional Committee. This is
no fun at all, but in Africa we had the most pleasant
though most disappointing part of our trip while on the
trail of the black rhino. After finishing a day’s hunt one
evening, George and I were returning to our camp on
Lake Meru when a messenger came to us from Lyman,
who had moved up the lake to a separate camp in order to
hunt buffaloes to better advantage. The message he
sent us read:

S. O. S. Rhino. Have just shot a female rhino and are trying to
capture its rather sizable young. Come at once with ropes.

We started off at once accompanied by the guide to
the other camp, only stopping in our tent for a moment
to spread cheese on bread and smear jam on top of that

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SOME RHINOS THE PARK HAS NOT HAD

for a quick lunch. We ate this as we hastened along
what was at first a trail but afterwards petered out into
a succession of elephant pug marks. During the rainy
season when the ground is soft, the feet of the elephants
naturally make deep impressions in the trail, which
later on may dry out leaving ugly places to fall into as
one hurries along a trail. Our guide cheerfully kept
telling us that we were almost there now. It grew dark,
and the trail got worse. Something snorted once in the
high grass ten feet from us, and galagos chattered in-
cessantly. We reached Lyman’s camp at eleven at night.
It had been a twelve-mile walk, and at the end of it we
found that he had shot the rhino just twelve hours pre-
viously and the little one had disappeared into the bush.
Early in the morning we started out and spent hours
beating the bush in an attempt to locate the youngster, but
never found him. Perhapsa lion got him during the night.

The district commissioner at Mbulu had told us of an
area on the Masai Steppe that was “stiff”? with rhinos,
so when I returned to the base camp with two truckloads
of animals I went ahead into this district where I was to
join George as soon as possible.

Coming back we secured additional natives at Mbulu,
and started on a four-day safari to where George was
supposed to be, but at the end of the first day we met
him coming back. In a week he had seen only four
rhinos, and none of them had young. Mando, our head
boy among the natives, told us of the Ja-Aida swamp
country, where there were “faro mingi sana,’ which
means “‘very much rhino,” which corresponds to the
Spanish “hay mucho,” which really means nothing.

Two days’ safari took us to the swamp. We camped
at one side on an elevation, and near a plain three miles
wide and perhaps seven or eight long, that was teeming
with antelopes and zebras. As we came into camp on
our first night’s march, a rhinoceros darted out of a
clump of bush on the other side and fled. On safari next

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WILD ANIMALS

day a white-ant hill in front of us suddenly jumped up,
and with tail up and head down charged off in the form
of a 5,000-pound rhinoceros.

Once in camp we started out to follow day after day the
trails made by the animals whose young we hoped to
secure. We encountered during three weeks sixteen of
them. Six times we crawled to within thirty or forty
feet of them in the bush, attracted at first by the loud
zaa-zaa of the rhinoceros birds, which the books say warn
the rhino of his enemies. In the scrub it was necessary
to get close to see if any young were there. George would
usually whisper reassuringly, ‘““When it charges, jump off
the path,” and invariably there was an aloe with sharp
spines pointing at me from the only available place to
which to jump. However, we were charged none of these
times, thanks to keeping in the right relation to the
wind, and finally after I had concluded that the rhinos
were systematically practicing race suicide in this part
of Africa, we came upon one witha baby. We peered into
the bush, and George, who saw the m/éofo (baby) first,
made a grimace and elevated his palm, indicating that
it was a very large one to attempt to catch. But we
were getting desperate. This was the fourteenth rhino
that we had seen and the first one with young, and after
all, it gets tiresome spending day after day on trails
followed 200 yards behind by a group of sixty boys—
trained rhinoceros catchers (trained by ourselves at play
in camp each evening after dinner, Mando being the
rhinoceros and the other boys surrounding and roping
him. This was a sort of drill which we hoped would be
useful in case we ever did come across a young one).
One of the boys carried a hammock. The thought of
this hammock of burlap cloth on two poles—made
especially for the rhino we did not catch—being carried
patiently day after day over what seemed at the time
like the whole of Africa, still fills me with sorrow. Any-
way, there was a young one here. We saw the mother

[ 204 ]

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SOME RHINOS THE PARK HAS NOT HAD

facing us. She did not see us, and we waited until she
swung to one side, and then fired, taking the neck shot—
eight inches back from the ear, and down. She fell to
her knees, and then we discovered—a most hurried
discovery—that it had been a family party of three,
father, mother, and child, with the male asleep some
twenty feet back of where the cow had been standing.
He woke, jumped up, and charged, the young one fol-
lowing him. And so ended our one chance to get a young
rhinoceros.

This safari was terminated suddenly by one of the
rhinos that we did not get. This animal, as every one
knows, is stupid and nearsighted, and when one is on
his way to a water hole and suddenly finds himself sur-
rounded by tents and native boys, he will charge through
blindly. Our peaceful nights were interrupted four times
in this way—the heavy rumble of a ponderous animal
rushing into camp, and boys yelling, “‘Hia! Hia!’’; one
leaps out of his cot and into the open so as not to be
caught in the same tent with the rhino. The boys, on
the other hand, come rushing up to be near the white
men and the guns. No harm was done until rhino number
four came up. One had come through camp about eleven
at night, and between two and three in the morning
another, perhaps the same, came back. It was just as
before, boys yelling and rhino charging, but Le Mesurier,
awakened by the noise, saw his tent waving. A boy had
tripped over one of the ropes, but Le Mesurier didn’t
know that. He jumped out and met a half dozen boys
coming in, with the result that he was thrown down,
caught his knee on a tent peg, and we had to break camp
and take him to the Government station to get a doctor
to perform a minor operation to save his leg.

One might truly say that the most magnificent animal
in any zoo is an adult Indian rhinoceros, but few zoos have
them. Magnificent in size, armor-plated with great
folds of skin, it is as fantastic as the mighty animals of

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WILD ANIMALS

the prehistoric Carboniferous swamps. From the stand-
point of the zoo, it is also one of the rarest of all large
animals in collections, and at present little short of
impossible to obtain. There are three living in America,
but none have been in the market in the hands of dealers
for many years, and even the largest circus has been
unable to obtain one to replace the historic specimen
which lived and traveled with the show for more than
twenty years.

Unlike the hippopotamus, rhinos do not breed readily
in captivity, though they have done so once or twice.
They have long been known in captivity, but never
very many at one time. Always objects of superstition
and fear, it may be that we see in the rhino the origin of
the fabled unicorn. Its picture is found in ancient
Chinese hieroglyphics. In the Roman arena they were
pitted against lions, but we have no records of the results
of these contests.

In 1517 a rhinoceros and an elephant were brought to
Lisbon and presented to King Manuel. There was much
discussion in the court and on highways as to “which
could lick which,” so the king decided to put it to the
test. A city street was closed with palisades, the rhi-
noceros concealed behind a curtain, and the elephant
brought in, whereupon the curtain was raised and the
rhino began tugging at his chain. The attendant, an
East Indian, loosened this, and the rhino advanced
slowly toward the elephant with his horn lowered. The
elephant stood still, watching his supposed enemy advance
near him, then suddenly lose confidence in himself and
flee, butting his head against the barrier. The elephant
turned and went back to his stable.

John Evelyn, in his Diary (1684), records that he “‘went
with Sir William Godolphin to see the rhinoceros, or
unicorn, being the first that I suppose was ever brought
into England. She belonged tosome East India merchants,
and was sold (as I remember) for above £2,000.”

[ 206 ]

SOME RHINOS THE PARK HAS NOT HAD

At this time rhino horns were in great demand, due
to the ancient superstition that a drinking cup made from
one of them would reveal the presence of poison. A
writer in 1762 stated that when wine is poured into a
rhino horn, it will rise, ferment and seem to boil, but
when mixed with poison it “cleaves in two.” Evelyn saw
in Italy a fountain kept free from poison by a rhino horn.
This superstition prevails today, and accounts for the
rarity of the animal throughout India. I have been told
that a good horn from the Indian rhinoceros would bring
as much as $1,000 in China, where it is used, also, in the
preparation of certain very valuable, very Chinese
remedies.

African rhinos are captured by shooting the mother
and then seizing and tying the young one with ropes.
The small ones tame very quickly, and with proper care
may be transported successfully.

Charles Mayer, well-known animal collector, describes
a method used in trapping the adult Indian rhinoceros.
The first step is to dig a pit about six feet wide, with
sides gently inclining to the bottom. Rhinos particularly
delight in wallowing in mire, so after the pit is concealed
by a covering of boughs and branches, a coating of mud
is laid and allowed to dry. When this has baked hard a
pool is made. Care must be taken to give this as natural
an appearance as possible, for the rhinoceros is a sus-
picious animal. After stepping on the trap, he slides to
the bottom without damage to himself. Coolies then
start a cage of rattan ropes, just large enough to hold
the rhino, while others are building an inclined road
towards the animal’s head. This road is just wide enough
to permit the cage to slide down on round logs. The door
of the cage is raised to allow the entrance of the animal.
A thin wall of earth has been retained between the end
of the road and the rhino. When the coolies begin to
push this wall into the pit on top of the animal, he rushes
into the cage, and the door is dropped.

[ 207 |

WILD ANIMALS

The rhinoceros is reputed to be one of the most danger-
ous of animals, although some of the Javanese variety
are so docile that natives saddle them and ride them
like horses. A. D. Bartlett states that when very young
and small they have been known to toss and roll a ball
about their paddock for hours, pushing it with the part
of the head where the horn will be formed. Mr. Bartlett
bore witness, however, to the ferocity of adult rhinos.
The Indian animal in the London Zoo, he said, would
have fits of rage during which it would dash its head
against the walls of its paddock, sometimes tearing off a
horn and leaving that part of the skull bare. The male
is especially intractable. The female sometimes remains
docile throughout life in captivity.

The horn is a mass of agglutinated hair which some-
times causes serious trouble to the animal. Mr. Bartlett
tells of one instance where he was obliged to saw off the
horn of a female which had grown forward so that it
projected beyond the nose, making it impossible for the
animal to get its mouth to the ground to eat. This beast
would allow the veteran keeper to stroke its head through
the bars of the cage, keeping its eyes closed during the
petting. For several days he tried her out, patting her
forehead just above the eyes with one hand and prac-
ticing sawing upon the horn with a walking stick with
the other hand. On the morning of the experiment he
went to the cage with another man, armed with a saw.
The keeper started stroking the eyes while his companion
sawed off the horn. Never once did the beast open her
eyes and she remained perfectly quiet during the operation.
The horn of another rhino grew back until it threatened
to pierce the skin. This creature was not so docile. Its
front feet were fastened by ropes to the bars and the
sawing process started but three saw blades were snapped
by the beast’s struggles before the horn was ampu-
tated.

Mr. Bartlett’s most thrilling experience with captive

| 208 ]

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SOME RHINOS THE PARK HAS NOT HAD

rhinos came one winter morning when the female men-
tioned above broke through the ice which covered a pool
nine feet deep in the elephant paddock. The poor beast
was struggling helplessly to gain a foothold on the steep
and slippery bank. The entire zoo force at the time,
twenty-six men, were hastily summoned. A rope was
tossed around the animal’s haunches and all started to
pull. They succeeded sooner than they had expected.
The rhino, with the help of the rope, managed to get out
of the pool. It had. been agreed that as soon as she
secured a foothold which she could keep the men were
to drop the rope and run. A narrow gate was open
behind them. The first to reach it was a fat man who
stuck fast in the narrow opening, thus penning his fellows
in the inclosure with the excited beast. The animal,
however, did not chase them. She seemed grateful to
them for saving her life. If she had lost her head some of
the men almost certainly would have been killed. The
rhino, once it starts a charge, continues relentlessly in a
straight line and jabs its horn into whatever it encounters,
whether this be a man or a tree. It attacks with no more
volition than a cannon ball, incapable of changing its
course until it comes in contact with some exterior force.
For this reason it is so dreaded by hunters and by
natives.

While the rhinoceros shares little of the intelligence of
the elephant, it is subject to the same paroxysms of rage
which sometimes make that animal one of the most danger-
ousincaptivity. The“bad’’rhinoisan ugly customer. A
notable example was “Smiles,” an African black rhino
cow at the Central Park Zoo in New York. She was
purchased from a circus. For ten years she had been
cooped in a cage which was too small for the animal to
turn around, traveling 5,000 miles a season. The real
viciousness of the creature came out in the spacious stall
provided for her in the elephant house—a viciousness
hardly to be wondered at when we consider the conditions

[ 209 }

WILD ANIMALS

under which she had lived. At first the slightest noise
would excite her to a frenzy and she would rush like a
mad bull, driving her fourteen-inch horn through the
two-inch sheathing of her stall, and knocking the plank
into splinters. In time, after the stall had been lined with
sheet iron, she calmed down. She lived for nearly twenty
years in her new home, but at any time during this period
it would have been suicide to enter her stall without
first roping and tying her. Early one morning her keeper
was alone in the elephant house, forking straw into a
corner of her stall. The rhino was straining furiously
against the fetters around her neck and head. Suddenly
one of the ropes parted. The man tried to make a rush
for the door, but with a mighty twist of the head, the
animal broke the remaining ropes. The keeper saw that
he was not only headed off but cornered. The beast
rushed with lowered head, horn tilted forward to run the
man through the body. With a yell for help the keeper
threw himself against the wall. About eight feet from the
floor was a horizontal joist. With a frenzied effort he
jumped for this, reached it and drew himself up in the
nick of time. The rhino’s horn caught his trousers leg
and ripped overalls, breeches and drawers from ankle to
hip. The skin, however, was not scratched. Other keepers
had arrived by this time. The infuriated cow was driven
off with pitchforks and iron bars and the man rescued
from his perilous perch.

Visitors to the National Zoological Park used to wonder
to see in one of the cages the curious combination of a
young African rhinoceros and a goat. The rhino was
pining away with loneliness when this companion was
furnished him. They became very good friends, per-
fectly harmless to each other. The larger animal, how-
ever, could not be reared to maturity.

[ 210 ]

CHAPTER XVII
THE HORSE FAMILY

THERE have been few more important developments in
the progress of man than the domestication of the horse
sometime before the dawn of history. By subduing the
horse to his will man obtained an instrument for con-
quering distance which he was unable to improve upon
for thousands of years. Until early in the nineteenth
century a human being never had traveled faster on land
than a horse could run. Its value was discovered all over
again during the Boer War, and Kipling pointed out to
the British army that four legs are better than two.

We do not know definitely what species was domesti-
cated. Of the wild relatives of the horse still extant—
Prejvalski’s horse, the wild asses, and the zebra—none
fills exactly the qualifications which the ancestor of the
domestic type must have possessed and neither does the
extinct forest horse of Europe.

The specifications for an ancestor of the domestic horse
are most closely approximated by Prejvalski’s horse in
Central Asia. This was discovered in 1880 by the Russian
army officer and explorer from whom it takes its name,
and the zoologists are more or less agreed that it is at
least a close relative of the domestic horse. Prejvalski
brought back only one skin of the wild horse, from which
the species was described, but a few years later two other
Russian travelers, the brothers Grum-Grizimailo, brought
back four of these animals alive, depositing them in the
zoological gardens at St. Petersburg.

In 1889 Frederick Edward Falz-Fein, a wealthy German
who had established a wild animal preserve of nearly

[ 211 |

WILD ANIMALS

2,000 acres on the Dnieper near the small city of Perekop
in Russia, conducted noteworthy experiments in accli-
matization and domestication, as well as hybridization,
using these horses, zebras, and the domestic horse of
Russia as subjects, but he met with indifferent success.
It is said that one of his wild horses was domesticated
to the point where it could be ridden by Cossacks, but
this does not mean a great deal. There are many Western
mustangs that can be ridden by cowboys which I should
hesitate to call domesticated. :

All of the Prejvalski’s horses now living in collections
are descendants of an original herd captured by the
German animal dealer, Hagenbeck, and brought to Europe
in 1899. The hunters arrived in the field at a fortunate
time, about the middle of May, and on the steppes which
surround the little city of Kobdo at the foot of Mt. Altai
were able to capture fifty-two colts by running the herds
until the young ones, out of breath and exhausted, would
drop behind. With thirty natives employed to care for
the captives, the expedition made its way overland for
fifty-nine days from Kobdo to the nearest station on the
trans-Siberian railroad, and after eleven months returned
to Hamburg with twenty-eight of the colts still alive.

Whether or not Prejvalski’s horse is the ancestor of the
domestic horse, certainly the prehistoric drawings in
Spanish caves show outlines of horses strikingly like our
specimens.

The quaggas, a species which is now extinct, striped like
the zebra, but without bands on the legs, with short ears
and tufted tails, once roamed in great herds over the
South African plains, but were gradually killed off for
food by the natives and the early settlers. Some at-
tempts were made to domesticate them. South African
farmers are reported to have sometimes kept quaggas
with their cattle as a protection against hyenas, which
the wild horses would kill with their hoofs. As a result
of indiscriminate slaughter, the only known quagga lived

[ 212 |

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A pair of famous hybrids. Grevy zebra by Morgan mare, and Grevy
zebra by domestic ass

THE HORSE FAMILY

in the London Zoo years after all the other specimens
had been wiped out.

The mountain or true zebra, with distinct donkeylike
ears and tail, would have followed the quagga to ex-
tinction, had not the government of South Africa given
the few remaining herds in the mountains strict pro-
tection. Until 1875 the mountain zebra existed in great
herds, but it is now reduced to a few small troops fre-
quenting the wildest and most desolate spots in the high
lands. Occasionally it comes into captivity, and we are
fortunate in having a beautiful pair at the Park from
which we hope to raise successors.

The finest of all zebras is the Grevy’s, which is also
the largest species, with much finer stripes than the others.
One famous specimen in our Zoo was presented to Presi-
dent Roosevelt by the King of Abyssinia in 1904. It had
walked a distance of 150 miles from the capital to the
coast at that time, and arrived at Washington in company
with some magnificent young lions and two ostriches.
The zebra lived here fifteen years and was loaned to the
U. S. Department of Agriculture for experiments in
hybridization with the domestic ass and with the horse.
The results of these experiments are Juno, our Morgan
mare-zebra hybrid, and a zebra-ass hybrid, both of which
are still living at the Park.

Though the hybridization of these two species has
proved successful, the resultant mules are not especially
desirable as work animals. It was hoped that crossing
the zebra and the ass would result in a hybrid immune
from the horse disease of Africa and so useful as a work
animal in the areas infested by the tsetse fly. But the
hybrid has proved not very tractable, and it lacks the
power and stamina of the domestic horse, so that breeding
for utilitarian purposes has been abandoned. However,
one sees the mules from time to time, and one of the
American circuses had a team of six which drew a wagon
in the parade.

[ 279]

WILD ANIMALS

Burchell’s and Chapman’s zebras are the two species
found much more frequently in collections. The colored
man’s description of the zebra as a “‘sport-model donkey”’
is not too bad, but not nearly so funny as the description
appearing on the circus program of a performance of a
group of eight of these skittish animals in one of our
circuses. The menagerie tent just before this act was to
come on represented a bedlam, keepers being dragged
around, kicked, and bitten. Finally the little troupe were
led, herded, pushed and otherwise maneuvered into the
center ring of the big tent, where they trotted around
the ring three times, and then stopped. Then to a long
“‘Zaa-a-a-a-a” by the band, about half of them put their
heads over the shoulders of the adjoining zebra, when
they were hurried out and tied again in their temporary
stalls. It was amusing to watch their tails. A troupe of
horses would have performed mechanically and without
much show of emotion, but every zebra’s tail in this
troupe kept doing a St. Vitus’s dance. The program’s
description of this performance read as follows: “Number
18. Herds of performing zebras in the center ring will
astonish you with their feats of almost unbelievable
intelligence.”

One of our Chapman’s zebras, startled by some unusual
sound, jumped into the fence and broke its neck. We got
another pair which arrived at the Zoo one evening, and
were placed in the paddock. The following morning a
small stick of dynamite was set off at the other end of the
Park. The zebras started, and one of these also broke
his neck on the fence.

The Chapman’s zebra abounds in Tanganyika. It is
so common that in some districts it has been declared a
pest by the game department, and can be killed at will.
Natives are fond of the meat, and on some safaris it
forms the staple food for the porters. We collected ours
in the mountains beyond Mbulu. Getugenah, Sultan of
the Wamburu, had come to our camp with eighty men.

[214]

THE HORSE FAMILY

In the days of German control Getugenah had had some
experience in collecting animals for the white traders,
and he volunteered to help us get some zebras. The best
way, of course, would have been to run them down on
horses and lasso them. But there were no horses, nor
could any live there on account of the disease-carrying
tsetse fly, so the only thing we could do was to run them
down by man power.

Getugenah took us to an area of hilltops. It was a
very foggy morning when we started out, so that we
could see little, but later on the fog lifted suddenly, and
before us we saw a herd of about four hundred zebras
feeding in and among herds of native humped-back
cattle, and paying no attention to the herdsmen. Getu-
genah had earlier placed little groups of men all about
the hilltops and they commenced running the zebra
herd, which broke up into numerous small lots of a
dozen or so each. There were a number of young among
them. The herd would gallop a half mile away from a
group of shouting and gesticulating natives, suddenly to
come upon another group of the same, turn, gallop another
half mile, and again meet more of their harassers. It
ended by some of the younger ones dropping behind,
whereupon we, accompanied by Getugenah and a group
of men who had been resting, dashed up, surrounded them
and got lassos over the necks of the youngsters. One was
about two-thirds grown. She had slipped in a muddy
place, and we were able to put a halter on her before
she got up. It was surprising how easy it proved to
handle these freshly caught animals, partly, of course,
due to the fact that they were very tired at the time.
We let each one rest, and gave it water.

On the larger animals we arranged two ropes, diverging,
with natives at either end to pull against each other when
the animals cavorted, and by this means we managed to
lead all of the animals back slowly, with occasional
disturbances on their part, to camp. We put them into

fous:

WILD ANIMALS

a mud-and-thatch house and kept them from food until
noon the following day, when they all ate, the little ones
drinking quantities of tinned milk. Our largest prize
became fairly tame in a short time, and her juniors would
follow her about, so when we made our long march down
the mountains to our animal depot, she took the lead with
the others after her.

Tomasi, our cook boy and best animal man among
the natives, had been the first to grab this animal. He
was proud of her and asked me, rather beseechingly,
“Him name Mary?” thereby exposing an affair of the
heart that he had had at a nearby village. We teased
him about this affair, and he denied it, but afterwards
he married Mary, even though he had to change from
Christian to Mohammedan to do so. The change seemed
very simple. He drew some of his salary and bought a
fez, and stopped eating pig.

[ 216 |

CHAPTER’ XVIII

THE POUCH BEARERS

THE marsupials provide a curious and valuable educa-
tional exhibit for the zoological garden.

It would almost seem that there exists in nature special
niches for various types of animals—the mole, the bear,
the squirrel, the cat. Throughout most of the world the
placental animals developed into types to fill these
niches, but where they were not present, in Australia
and the neighboring islands, the isolated marsupials
developed and produced approximately the same results.
So, among the marsupials we have animals strikingly
like the sloths, wolves, cats, moles, and flying squirrels.
They develop similar physical forms and exhibit similar
behavior, though actually the relationships between the
slothlike native “‘bear” of Australia, the koala, and the
South American sloths, and between the thylacine, or
Tasmanian wolf, and our prairie wolf are far more distant
than that between the latter and the elephant.

Marsupials are in general inferior in intelligence to
similar forms among the placentates. Most of them are
timid, harmless animals, usually nocturnal, and on the
whole not well fitted for captivity. Exceptions include
various types of kangaroos, the dasyure, or native cat,
wombats, Tasmanian devils, and phalangers, all of which
have been kept successfully at our Zoo. The latter have
bred several times.

The Tasmanian devils which we have had here have not
lived up to their reputation. One, which we had for five
years, became quite tame, and would come to the front

[ary]

WILD ANIMALS

of the cage and even endure furtive taps and scratches
by way of caress. Probably its fierce appearance and its
voracious hunting and feeding habits have given it the
reputation it bears.

In recent years the Australian authorities have tightened
their restrictions on exporting the rarer of the native
animals—wisely, because some of the most interesting of
all the species are in danger of extermination. We have
exhibited twenty-seven species of Australian marsupials
at various times, including a number of kangaroos, several
phalangers, and in times past even the rare Tasmanian
wolf now approaching extinction and practically unknown
in collections outside of Australia. Of the five specimens
we have had, one lived for seven years and one
month.

While kangaroos normally thrive in zoological gardens,
there is a curious disease called puff mouth, the nature of
which is not very well known, which sometimes creates
havoc in the collection, and which has on several occasions
completely wiped out the kangaroo herds in our zoological
parks.

Not all marsupials are restricted to Australia. One of
the common duties of a zoological park director in this
country is to write letters “thanking you for the kind —
offer,” but refusing to buy American opossums from nu-
merous captors. This animal is brought in so frequently
and lives so well that zoos are usually well stocked with
them. Besides, they do not make an attractive exhibit.

On the other hand, some of the smaller South American
species are beautiful little animals. Once, in Bolivia, an
Indian brought me a mother of one of the tiny species,
with her family of five young. The mother herself was
no larger than a mouse, and the babies, red in color and
hairless, were grouped about her waist. I put them in a
small Mason jar and tied a piece of cloth over the top.
They lived here for some weeks until an assiduous
servant, in cleaning the house, turned the jar over and

[ 218 |

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THE POUCH BEARERS

forgot to turn it up again, so the mother bit a small hole
in the covering and crawled through, scraping off her
family, which were left in a little cluster in the bottom of
the jar. All I could do was to gather them up with a
teaspoon and pickle them for the Museum.

In Australia, one of the great questions for argument,
of less importance only than politics and the price of
wool and mutton, is whether the young kangaroos are
born in the usual way, or whether they are born in the
pouch. Australia is divided into two schools over this
question, and there exist tales of lifelong friendships
which have been riven by a difference of opinion on this
subject. Baby kangaroos are very tiny, and after they get
into the pouch they attach themselves to the mother’s
nipples and remain there. So it is quite natural that
early bush naturalists in Australia would assume that
they had simply grown iz situ. Recently the birth of the
young and their unaided journey through the mother’s
fur to the pouch has been observed in both the kangaroo
and the American opossum. Mr. Blackburne’s notes on
this subject are of interest:

Several great red kangaroos (Macropus rufus) and
rufous-bellied wallabies (Macropus billardieri) have been
born and bred in the Park. No one here has ever been
present at a birth, and so we can not say from personal
experience how the young one reaches the pouch.

A great red kangaroo bred July 2, 1916. Life was first
noticed in the pouch September 6, 1916. On December 3,
1916, the head of the young could be seen peering over
the edge. From that time until February 21 the baby
was in and out of the pouch, but after that date the
mother refused to allow him to crawl in again. However,
for several months thereafter she did permit the young
to put his head into the pouch to nurse. I have fre-
quently seen a youngster nursing in this manner while
the pouch was pretty well filled with another young one.

A young female rufous-bellied wallaby for some reason

[ 219]

WILD ANIMALS

discarded her first baby. The youngster was very much
frightened at being dropped so suddenly, and made
repeated attempts to crawl back into the pouch. The
mother loosened the draw string, leaving the pouch wide
open so as to make it impossible for him to get in. For a
few minutes he jumped about the cage, and then crawled
into the pouch of his grandmother, who was at the time
carrying a youngster of about the same size in her pouch.
She seemed perfectly satisfied to care for both babies
and the two made an amusing picture, poking their
heads out of the pouch. As they grew older and bold
enough to venture out for hopping exercise, both would
frequently become alarmed and dart back to the pouch
at the same time, each scrambling to get in ahead of
the other. Many authorities, among them E. S. Joseph,
an Australian animal dealer, have told me that they
never knew of a wallaby having twins.

PLATE 69

Upper: Tasmanian devil, which, like the kangaroo, carries its young
after birth in a pouch. Reaches a length of three feet when adult
Lower: Yellow-footed rock wallaby from Australia

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CHAPTER XIX
OTHER MAMMALS

Prop e frequently ask which is the rarest animal in the
collection, a question easy to answer in our Zoo, because
that position is filled by the South American bush dog
(Icticyon venaticus), which at the present time we believe
to be the only specimen in captivity, and a species which
comes into collections very rarely indeed. It is known
to the Indians as perro con cola chuta (“dog with the short
tail’). It inhabits the wet forest and is nocturnal in habit,
so that, as people do not go into the marshes at night,
the dog is not seen.

Major E. A. Goldman, of the U. S. Biological Survey,
while collecting in Panama, shot at a running object
hidden in the bush, and one of these dogs rolled out.

Our specimen was obtained in Rio Janeiro by Mr.
W. L. Schurz, the commercial attaché at the American
Embassy there, and kept as a pet until he returned to
America on a visit, when the animal was presented to
the National collection. On arrival at New York he
appealed particularly to the newspaper writers, and for
weeks accounts of him were broadcast in the press. He
was described as a dog with webbed feet, a bobbed tail,
and a voice like a bird, and the description is correct.
To this may be added that he has tiny ears and a strong,
weasel-like smell. He has lived here now since June, 1924,
is very tame, and will come to the bars to be petted at
any time. He wags his short tail as any dog will do, and
while being petted emits a curious whining sing-song.
We once took our specimen to the Smithsonian Institu-

[22a |

WILD ANIMALS

tion to form part of a temporary exhibit there. When
our specimen came back to the Zoo, the first thing he did
was to bite his keeper for the first time.

The mongoose, existing in many species in Africa and
India, is well known in captivity, both as a pet and as a
zoo animal. It deserves attention not only as a traditional
enemy of venomous reptiles, but also because of its
incessant activity in or out of captivity.

The Indian species (Herpestes griseus) is prohibited
from entering the United States, and wisely prevented,
for wherever it has been introduced it has become a
fearful pest. Jamaica furnishes a classic example, as well
as Fiji and other localities. Not only does it kill snakes,
but any other small things it can get to, such as lizards
and birds, and it becomes an able, persistent enemy of
the poultry yard.

Years ago, while in Fiji, I was especially anxious to
obtain specimens of the native frogs, a distinct species,
and especially interesting because of their occurrence in
such remote islands. Eventually I did secure some.
Formerly they must have been very abundant, as I
found four different names for frogs among the natives,
but when I asked about them in the vicinity the reply
was always the same:

“There used to be lots of them, but they are gone—
mongoosi.””

I have heard that a friend of mine brought in a pair of
this species as ‘Egyptian weasels.”” The customs man could
find nothing in the book about Egyptian weasels, so
these took their places as household pets, and eventually
went to a zoo.

One of the most spectacular African forms is the East
African white-tailed mongoose, which has an enormous
long-haired, whitish tail, quite as long as its body. The
specimen that we captured lived only a few months, but
we succeeded in bringing in several pairs of the banded
mongoose.

[ 222 ]

OTHER MAMMALS

One of these, aboard the ship on the homeward voyage,
showed remarkable intelligence. We had made our
shipping boxes as best we could; each of them had a
footboard which could be raised for purposes of cleaning,
and sometimes these were not securely fastened, so one
of our mongoose specimens got loose in the hold. It is
not pleasant to have a mongoose alive and loose among
a hundred cages of birds. We immediately put out traps,
caught him that evening, and put him back into the box.
He escaped again the following day, and having become
acquainted with the type of traps we had, would not go
into one. But he could not get into the bird cages, and
after a day apparently missed the meals that came
regularly into his old home. We had driven a nail into
the footboard to keep his mate from getting out, and our
escaped mongoose actually worked this nail loose, lifted
the footboard, and got inside the cage, where we found
him next morning.

Interest in the crab-eating mongoose from India lies
in the fact that it is partly aquatic in its habits, swimming
easily and feeding chiefly on crabs and frogs. It is a
restless, active creature, and does not do well in captivity,
even in India. I have never seen one alive in America.

The mongoose is apt to bite, and when talking to the
keeper in a zoo it may be best not to mention Kipling’s
Riki to him, because he is quite likely to have been
recently bitten by the local specimen.

The water mongoose (Herpestes paludinosus rubescens)
of East Africa belongs to the rarer species of this genus.
On the first evening of our first safari we had found
beneath some débris near camp a white-tailed rat, and
had put him into a cage improvised from a hurriedly
emptied food box. The following day as we were walking
near the lake shore, a boy shouted “Mfofo!’”’ and pointed
to a small animal loping along the beach. While we were
on safari our boys, knowing that we were after young
animals, and that the boy who should see a young one

Lape

WILD ANIMALS

first would receive baksheesh, applied the name to every-
thing we saw. For business purposes a forty-year-old
elephant would have been a mtoto to them. At first we
thought this particular mtofo to be an otter, because of its
undulating manner of moving. We ran him down on
foot, and grabbed him by the neck. He seemed to be a
fairly powerful animal, and we shouted for something to
put him in. The box with the rat was brought, and we
popped him into that, and closed the door. The next
thing we heard was a steady “Crunch, crunch.” Ten
minutes after being captured he had killed and com-
pletely eaten his box mate.

We carried this mongoose around with us in a crate
made of heavy twigs bound together, for a month, until
we finally got him back to camp and into a proper cage.
He became fairly gentle, made no attempt to snap, and
appeared to take an interest in his keeper. At home in
the Zoo he was always well behaved and friendly, but
consumption carried him off at the end of three
months.

The largest of the civets is the East African. We have
had two specimens. Usually in captivity it is strongly
nocturnal, though occasionally a specimen will adapt
itself somewhat to zoo life and become active during
the day. It is almost omnivorous, and fairly easy to
keep. We secured several specimens in Tanganyika. A
native brought one to me while I was in a hotel there.
I boxed the animal and left him in the courtyard for the
night. Sometime after midnight I was awakened by
most terrific howls. For a time I did not understand
where they came from, but eventually located them in
the civet box. I was afraid of being put out of the hotel,
so I went out and scolded him to quietness, then returned
to my room. There I enjoyed about five minutes before
the howling commenced again. The rest of the night I
had to sit alongside the box, keeping the animal cowed
in the corner, while the mosquitoes fed on me_ until

[ 224 ]

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OTHER MAMMALS

daylight came. This animal has a strong musky smell, not
unpleasant when not too strong, which it can emit at will.

The Indian civet, although differing in appearance, has
about the same habits as the East African. In captivity
both are fed on meats, fruit, and eggs.

Any boy who has ever read Olive Thorne Miller’s
Four-Handed Folk feels the crying need of a pet kinkajou
in his life. Personally I was unable to get that need out
of my soul until many years after reading the book, when
I did secure one. The kinkajou, sometimes called “night
monkey,” though not a monkey, and apparently never
called kinkajou except in the books and on zoo park
labels, inhabits the greater part of tropical America,
occurring in several varieties. As large as a cat, with
a long, prehensile tail, rather bearlike feet, soft yellow
fur, large eyes, and usually of gentle disposition, it is an
altogether handsome and satisfactory pet.

The first one I had came from the zoo at Para, Brazil,
and was given to me in exchange for a dead scaly-tailed
rat from the upper Amazon. The zoo carpenter was
engaged to make the cage, and he did it in two days of
hard work; it was the most beautiful box I have ever
had, each bar of hardwood, carefully rounded and in-
serted in a hardwood footboard. During the day the
jupara (that is what he 1s called in Brazil) slept, but in
the evening he would climb around the steamer as far
as the cord to which he was tethered would permit.
He had the most voracious appetite for his size of any
animal I have known. Though smaller than a cat, three
or four bananas were considered a light lunch.

Two other kinkajous were given to me in Honduras.
I left them in my room at the fruit company’s head-
quarters, caged in a heavy wooden box. On a shelf on
the wall I put a dozen bananas. When I returned in the
evening, the floor was strewn with banana skins, and the
two kinkajous were coiled up together sleeping on the

shelf. They had clawed their way out of the box. The
ees

WILD ANIMALS

kinkajou has long, sharp canine teeth, and sometimes
does use them. A specimen in the collection once bit
through the hand of one of our keepers.

It is often far easier for American zoos to obtain rare
animals from obscure corners of Africa and from Asia
than from our own continent. Thus, for twenty years
there was not a single specimen of the Alaskan wolverine
in the National Zoological Park. Recently Dr. Will H.
Chase of the Alaska Game Commission, who is in touch
with hunters and trappers in that part of the world,
succeeded in getting a nice trio of them. These were
caught in steel traps, caged in very stout boxes metal-
lined, with iron bars, and shipped to Washington. We
liberated them in a large outdoor cage. For a time they
were fierce animals, charging the visitors and the keeper,
but very soon they tamed down, and became ideal
animals for exhibition. They are playful, fond of romp-
ing around the cage, and appear to be fond of each other,
for they will sleep together, though they do a great deal
of snapping and jangling among themselves. One has
shown a special liking for climbing a tree in the inclosure.
He lies on his back in a crotch and does crude gym-
nastics.

When one of our wolverines looks one over in a not
unfriendly way through the bars of his cage, it is hard
to imagine how this largest of the weasels acquired his
reputation as the meanest as well as one of the cleverest
of warm-blooded creatures. But that he will follow a
line of traps through the snow and devour the captured
animals is a well-established fact, and he commonly seeks
out and destroys the food caches left by hunters and
trappers. One of the most inspiring bits of profanity I
have ever heard came from a couple of visitors, un-
doubtedly Alaskans, who were standing in front of the
cage discussing the inclosed trio.

Because of the demand for its fur, for use in aviation
costumes, the wolverine is becoming scarcer and may

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eventually become extinct. The Detroit Zoo has a splen-
did collection of eleven of the animals living together in an
open-air pit. So far they have not bred, though I believe
a breeding pair of the European species once lived in the
zoo at Copenhagen.

The interesting European wolverine, or glutton, has
appeared more often in captivity than the American
species. He was exhibited in the menageries of the
Romans and appears from time to time in the accounts
of the royal animal collections of the Middle Ages. One
animal kept in the Jardin des Plantes was termed ‘“‘the
animal vulture” by Buffon. He ate a great deal, more
than four pounds of flesh a day, if indulged, but when
deprived of food was not importunate. In drinking he
lapped like a dog. He moved with a kind of leap, and
after eating covered himself with straw in his cage.

The ratel, or honey badger (Mellivora capensis), a
large, badgerlike animal, lives throughout most of East
Africa, where no other animal inspires more fear in the
natives. It is fearless, and, for its size, one of the most
powerful mammals. The one we secured was brought to
us at Dodoma by the Wagogo. We put it into a box but
that night it scratched a hole in the side and walked out.
After considerable effort we got it into another, heavier
box, through which it also walked, so we eventually got
some tin and lined the cage, and by substituting sheet
metal for the tin later, we managed to keep it boxed until
it arrived in Washington. Since then it has spent all of
every day sleeping beneath a pile of hay.

Sometimes the ratel becomes diurnal when kept in a
menagerie. The specimen in Philadelphia is awake
through the day and is a comparatively tame animal,
allowing itself to be petted to some extent; but ours has
remained strictly nocturnal and always very savage.

On a recent occasion a correspondent offered us the “‘first
albino gray squirrel that had ever been captured” for
two hundred dollars or “what will you offer?” and we

L2e74

WILD ANIMALS

could only reply by stating that “these are such quarrel-
some animals that should we put this one in with the
three we already have, they would probably fight.”
The albino is not at all uncommon.

The black squirrels in the National Zoological Park
are simply melanistic forms of the gray. Some years ago a
half dozen pairs were brought from Ontario and liberated
in the Park, and now between fifty and a hundred are
living here.

Lack of quarters has prevented us from maintaining
collections of exotic squirrels, though some of the most
brilliantly colored of all small mammals are the squirrels
‘of the East Indies.

In the London Zoo there is a house given over entirely
to squirrels. I noticed the favorite with the public was
the ordinary American gray squirrel.

Of the half dozen species of tapirs known, only two
regularly come into captivity. These are the saddle-back
or Malay tapir (Acrocodia indica) and the common South
American tapir (Tapirus terrestris). The former is the
handsomer animal and rarer in American collections.

Until recently we had three species in the collection,
but the Malay individual died after a fourteen years’
residence, leaving us with the South American and the
rare (at least in captivity) Baird’s tapir (Elasmognathus
bairdi) of Central America. The latter species has ap-
peared in the United States a number of times, but
usually the young will not live.

In Honduras I made friends with a man who had a
small zoo in his back yard, and I talked so convincingly
of the need felt by the great American people to look at a
Baird’s tapir that finally, mellowed by this talk and by
certain influence imported from England, he gave me the
animal. It had been feeding entirely on bananas, and I
had difficulty at first to get it to eat anything else. Before
we reached New York, however, it was eating a few
boiled potatoes, with which we had mixed bananas. It

[ 228 |

saivyd JOULIP pajurof sty yim BOTIOWUY yynos wolf OT] Ipeuly

Lange J a y Po ” ae ogee ae w
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SL ULV Id

asod IIIOART sTY ul YyiAoTsS P20}-0M} UBOLIOWUY Y4Nosg

94 ALVId

OTHER MAMMALS

is still living, and has grown from a weight of 186 pounds,
including the crate, to a net bulk now of about 500
pounds. This is probably the largest of all the tapirs,
and is said to attain a weight of 1,200 pounds, though |
have never seen any approximating that size.

When the U. S. S. Wilmington made its notable voyage
up the Amazon in 1899, Commander Todd purchased
from the captain of a river steamer a young male South
American tapir and presented it to the National Zoo-
logical Park, where it lived for eighteen years. A female
was secured two years later, and from the two of them
were born, between 1903 and 1g0g, seven young, six of
which lived to maturity. The period of gestation ranged
from 392 to 401 days.

The specimen now in the collection was received from
the Municipal Zoological Garden of Buenos Aires in 1911,
when about two years old. Since that time he has been
living out-of-doors, with only an unheated, though
well-constructed, shed for the winter time. There is
something incongruous in the spectacle of this tropical
animal plowing through the snow and apparently en-
joying itself during Washington winters.

The smallest of all mammals are the shrews, and one of
the smallest of the shrews occurs wild in the National
Zoological Park itself. This is the least short-tailed shrew
(Cryptotis parva). We have had specimens several times,
keeping them in glass Jars and feeding them earthworms
and nuts. They are so tiny as to be difficult to exhibit,
but in East Africa we secured a number of elephant
shrews (Elephantulus ocularis) and succeeded in bringing
a pair home, feeding them alternately on fruits and meats.
The elephant shrew is about eight inches long, not count-
ing the tail, and has a very long snout. They became
fairly tame. Their most peculiar characteristic was the
exceedingly swift movement of the mouth in feeding.

The next-door neighbor to the shrew is the hedgehog,

most uninteresting because it sleeps rolled into a ball all

[ 229 ]

WILD ANIMALS

day, usually under a pile of hay, and comes out only at
night. A white-bellied form (4telerix hindei sotikae) was
exceedingly abundant in East Africa, and we collected a
great many, but succeeded in bringing home only a few.
We put in the box with them each day a large saucer of
ground-up raw meat mixed with egg, which they always
“cleaned up.” But they died one by one, and at the end
of the trip, when we had less than half of the number
we started out with, I found they still cleaned up, so
that it occurred to me that perhaps some of them had
died from not having had enough food. They must be
tremendously voracious feeders in nature.

Among the animals seldom seen in zoos is the Solenodon
(Solenodon paradoxus), though we had a pair of them in
the collection in 1910 and Ig11. These were brought to .
us by Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Adams, who collected them
in Haiti. One lived for six months. The Solenodon is
the largest of the insectivores, with the exception of the
tenrec (Centetes ecaudatus), a pair of which, by a curious
coincidence, were in our collection at the same time.
Since then we have been offered these animals once or
twice, the last letter, from a gentleman in Santo Domingo,
offering to deliver one to the port nearest him for $30,000.
Of course there was nothing for us to do but refer this
letter to the United States Treasury.

Although bats are extremely interesting and fairly
common throughout a large part of the world, most of
them are not at all suitable for exhibition. They develop
sores in confinement, and soon die. The exception is the
fruit bat, or flying fox. In a high, shady, and cool cage
he will live very well. Throughout the day he hangs
head downward, but in the evening he will crawl about
the cage and feed voraciously. We have had only two
of these, the Indian fruit bat, in the National collection,
though I have seen them often in other zoos.

The flying fox has a very strong, musky smell. Years
ago in Fiji I collected a number of these by lying beneath

[ 230 ]

OTHER MAMMALS

a mango tree on a moonlight night and shooting them
as they came to eat mangoes. My object in collecting
them was to secure some of the strange parasitic flies
which live in their hair. After collecting all of these
parasites that I could by the light of a lamp, I put the
bats on a newspaper in a corner of my room. The room
belonged in a series which formed the headquarters of a
sugar plantation, and the next morning, not only my
room but the adjoining ones were reeking with bat
perfume. My British hosts said nothing, but all during
breakfast I could hear them thinking.

Our experience with monotremes has been limited to
four specimens of Echidna aculeata, the spiny anteater
of Australia. None of them lived longer than five months.
I once brought one up from Sydney but it died a day
before we reached Vancouver. The classic example of
longevity for this animal is in the Philadelphia Zoo,
where it has lived for more than a quarter of a century
in a small cage, the floor of which is covered with earth.
It sleeps in a box during the day, and emerges regularly
each evening to eat egg and milk.

The spiny anteater’s close relative, the duckbill platy-
pus, or ornithorhynchus, belongs in the class of animals
impossible to maintain alive. Only one has ever reached
the United States alive, brought from Australia by Ellis
Joseph, the collector, and it lived but a few weeks in
New York. Even in Australia they do very poorly in
captivity.

[agri

GBAPTER XX
WINGS

Birps are among the popular standard exhibits of a
zoological garden, and include hundreds of kinds that
are easily kept in captivity, the bird house being always a
favorite with zoo visitors because of the attractive colors
and constant activities of its inhabitants. The National
Zoological Park in its new house for birds, just completed,
and its various outdoor cages, has on exhibition regularly
more than three hundred species of birds from all over
the world, and is constantly augmenting this number so
that the student can find here dozens of kinds that he
can never hope to see alive in any other way, while the
visitor without special knowledge will be delighted by the
talking mynah, the strange shoebill, the brilliant lories,
and many other strange and beautiful birds.

In 1904 King Menelik of Abyssinia presented to
President Roosevelt a collection of native animals,
among others a magnificent male Somaliland ostrich
(Struthio molybdophanes). The express shipment arrived
in Washington late in the evening, and was brought out
at night to the Zoological Park. This ostrich was the
most forlorn specimen that ever came into a collection.
He looked as though everybody he had encountered on
the trip from Abyssinia to Washington had taken at
least one feather from him, so that he arrived a com-
pletely plucked bird, six feet high. I don’t know whether
or not this treatment should be recommended for all
ostriches, but the fact is that he grew another coat of
feathers, and for the past twenty-four years has been one

[ 232]

PEATE, 17

ON Be eR

oe
2

4
$
j
%

emale rhea from South Amer

Sclater

Upper

S CassOWwary

,’

Lower

PLATE 78

In Summer

at flight cage

gre

side the

WINGS

of our thriving specimens. Some years ago he lost his
sight, so when we moved most of the collection to the
new bird house, it did not seem advisable to shift him,
as he was so well acquainted with his old quarters.

There were two ostriches in the shipment from King
Menelik, the second being a Nubian (Struthio camelus)
that lived here for seven years. He was very large and
aggressive, a really dangerous animal. On one occasion
he had two of the keepers sprawled out on the floor,
helpless. With an old broom Mr. Blackburne managed
to keep him away long enough to allow the keepers to
make a quick exit.

Before leaving Abyssinia these two birds had been
hobbled with rope tied above the knee joints, sufficiently
long to allow them to walk, to make the trip from the
estate where they were kept to the steamship, a distance
of 300 miles. At sea each was put in a separate crate
and the hobbles removed. On their arrival here their
legs were in a sorrowful condition, with the flesh worn
away exposing the bone, due to the friction caused by
the rope hobbles. We had to give them daily treatment
for several months before the wounds had healed.

Our South African (Struthio australis) and Nubian
ostriches occupy a paddock with only an unheated shed
for shelter. They have laid a number of times, but none
of the eggs have ever been fertile.

The ostrichlike American rhea is one of the commoner
birds in zoos. We have had specimens which lived for
over thirteen years in the Park. Some young ones that
we secured on the Bolivian pampas near Reyes exhibited
a most wayward behavior. Their one ambition seemed
to be to get out of the courtyard in which they were
safely housed, and into the village street, where the
Indians’ dogs continually awaited such an opportunity.
When one did get out, it was so obstinate and did so much
ducking about that we could not drive it back, but had
literally to run 1t down and carry it home bodily.

[ 233 |

WILD ANIMALS

One of our emus (Dromiceius novae-hollandiae) has been
in the collection now for nearly twenty-six years, and is
still an active, healthy bird, though somewhat vicious
toward its keeper. It makes a deep booming sound that
reverberates throughout the bird house at night.

Cassowaries in general do well, and they should be a
delight to the zoo manager’s heart. The baby casso-
waries are very difficult to identify as to species, and the
price on them is low, so that buying one is like buying
stocks in the market for a rise, with no risk at all. If it
grows up into a different species from what you already
have, it is a valuable addition to the collection, while if it
proves to be the same, it is worth three and a half times
as much as a baby. In this way we purchased a young
cassowary for $150 and when it grew up and attained its
full color it was found to be Casuarius philipi, or Sclater’s
cassowary, a bird so rare that even its native habitat
is not definitely known, though this is supposed to be
New Guinea. .

Most curious of all the birds in the primitive flightless
groups is the apteryx or kiwi, from New Zealand, with
its long beak and the nostrils at the end for smelling the
subterranean worms which form its main diet. Our only
specimen, Apteryx mantelli, presented to us by the New
Zealand government, lived for two years and three
months. It seemed to prefer hiding in a box during the
daytime, but would come out in the afternoon to feed
on strips of beef cut worm-shape and size, and buried in
a pan of earth. The habit of kicking forward viciously
and quickly was another of its singular traits. Specimens
have lived in England for ten years or more, when given
a large run and fed on chopped raw meat, boiled potatoes,
and soaked bread.

We have never had much success with penguins. Of
six Humboldt’s penguins (Spheniscus humboldti) from
Chile, none lived longer than two months, as they were
all affected with aspergillosis, a fungus disease of the

[ 234 ]

WINGS

lungs, when they arrived, and had lived for a week or
so previously on an unnatural diet of bread and water.
A rock-hopper penguin (Catarrhactes pachyrhynchus) from
southern New Zealand lived for one year and five months.
We found it a gentle, quiet bird, feeding readily and
living on fresh fish. In other zoos penguins have lived a
number of years, and have frequently bred. They are
sometimes kept in the same inclosure with sea lions,
with whom they seem to get along quite well. I had seen
this combination in several other parks, and once put
our own rock-hopper in the inclosure with a leopard seal.
Never did a leopard seal move more quickly—after the
bird. The rock-hopper dived into the water, sped like an
arrow to the other side and out again. The whole ex-
periment took less than three minutes, after which the
penguin was caught and returned, alone, to his own
cage.

The loons and grebes do not do well in captivity. The
longevity record in our Park was made by a pied-billed
grebe (Podilymbus podiceps), which lived here for two

ears.

: The great flight cage contains, in the summer time, a
large assemblage of fish-eating birds. Among these are
the various pelicans, of which four or five species are
usually represented. For years we have had no proper
accommodations to house them for public view in the
winter time, and as many could not stand the winters of
Washington in the open, we have had to put them into
small pens in the storeroom at the rear of our bird house
during all of the colder months. Even with this treat-
ment they live astonishingly well. A European white
pelican (Pelecanus onocrotalus) has been with us for
twenty-five years, and an American white pelican (Pe/e-
canus erythrorhynchos) for thirty-one, and both are just
as ready as the younger birds to open their foot-and-a-half
of beak when they see the keeper approaching with
food.

[ 235 ]

WILD ANIMALS

Mr. Blackburne writes of some experiences with pelican
appetites:

During the early winter of 1913 several European
pelicans were housed for the winter months in a large
indoor cage, in company with a lot of other aquatic birds,
including half a dozen wandering tree ducks (Dendrocygna
arcuata). One day a keeper reported that one of the
latter was missing. He felt positive it had not escaped,
since the birds kept away from the door while the keeper
was entering or leaving the cage. I suspected the pelicans,
and decided to investigate. When pelicans are frightened
after eating they generally disgorge their food. This the
pelicans attempted after I had trotted them around the
cage several times. Some brought up partly digested
fish, but one, after much exertion, ejected two brown
feathers. No food was given this bird for two days, and
during the afternoon of the third day he disgorged the
duck, badly decomposed. Later on he ate his ration of
fish and seemed to be none the worse for his experience.

We once kept some American white pelicans in one
of the lakes in the Park. One evening they were seen
chasing a common water snake. One would pick up the
snake and toss it several feet, where another could get it
and do likewise. After several birds had amused them-
selves in this fashion, one of the pelicans caught the
snake and swam off with it, eventually swallowing it.
For a while he pressed his bill close to his body in an
effort to retain the snake, but in a few minutes it had
crawled up into the sac of the lower part of the bill,
where it wiggled so much that the pelican seemed glad
to open his bill and let it escape.

One of these pelicans once attempted to digest a
bamboo cutting fifteen inches long with four small
branches, each four incheslong. One of the keepers noticed
two inches of the sharp end protruding at the lower end
of the bird’s body. The bird was caught and the bamboo
drawn through the hole it had made in the pelican’s body.

[ 236 ]

opried uo suvorad aia uvoowy

64 ALV Id

PLATE 80

Snapshots in the Flight Cage

Upper: South American stone plover and trumpeters
Middle: East African crowned cranes
Lower: Snake bird or Anhinga, and white ibis from Florida

WINGS

He soon recovered, apparently without ill effect. Evi-
dently a pelican is willing to try anything. We took a
piece of wooden window-screen frame, eighteen inches
long, with tack heads sticking up an eighth of an inch,
out of another bird’s throat. He could neither swallow
it nor disgorge it, and it proved difficult to draw out, as
the tack heads seemed to catch in his throat. We finally
removed it, however, and the bird recovered. The stick
was probably thrown into the lake by a boy visitor.

The great flight cage in the open air also contains vari-
ous herons, gannets, snake birds, and the ibises. The
sacred ibis has been with us for over twenty-five years,
and a snake bird, or anhinga, for over sixteen. A black-
crowned night heron with an equal record is still living
in the cage. This species of heron is a native of the
National Zoological Park, and during the breeding season
in the early spring wild birds make their nests in the
vines growing up the outside of the cage while the tame
birds use the same vines on the inside, so the captive
and wild species are almost within touching distance of
each other. The wild birds envy the others at feeding
time, for fish and frogs are becoming scarcer and scarcer
on the outside of the cage. The mother heron apparently
has no nerves, for the continual clackety-clack of the
young ones whenever there is food about, and whenever
there is not, would drive anyone else frantic.

Some of the same birds are kept in winter time in the
great flight cage in the bird house. Others stay there the
year round, among these being the South American
boatbill, who is the National Zoo’s one-hundred-per-cent
optimist and spends hour after hour and week after week
standing by the drainage pipe of the water pool with
his head poised on one side, waiting for the fish that has
never yet come through and probably never will.

The flamingos, American (Phoenicopterus ruber) and

[ 237 |

WILD ANIMALS

European (Phoenicopterus roseus), with their impossibly
long legs and necks, and scarlet wings with black tips,
also live in this cage. We have never had much success
with the American species, which have lived scarcely more
than a year, but one European or Egyptian flamingo
lived for twelve years and eleven months, when it was
killed by an Australian black swan in the same inclosure.

The tropical spoonbills and the scarlet ibises likewise
reside in the inside cage. Their brilliant colors soon
fade unless a liberal quantity of fresh shrimp is included
in their diet.

This flight cage, with a rock pile at one end over which
water runs, a large swimming pool in the middle, and an
arid area in the far end, contains the greatest assortment
of species of any cage in the Zoo. In addition to the
birds mentioned there are a pair of Java jungle fowl,
a flock of the brilliant decorative nutmeg pigeons from
Nicobar, vulturine guinea fowl, crested European ruffs,
lapwings, Eyton’s tree duck, white-faced, and black-
bellied tree ducks, South American stone plovers, white-
necked storks from West Africa, Bahama pintails, Nanday
paroquets (one of the few species of the tribe that will live
at peace with other birds), and even three East African
crowned cranes. The last we secured in Tanganyika when
they were the size of chickens. Of the five we brought
home three live peacefully with all the other birds in the
cage. The other two are so pugnacious that they must
be kept in separate cages, each by itself. These, with a
laughing gull or two, East Indian gallinules, and various
and sundry other specimens added from time to time, make
up the collection in the cage. It is necessary to choose
birds that will live together peacefully. Usually, when a
new bird is put in the cage, the others take considerable
interest in it, and sometimes annoy it, chasing it around,
but in general, after they have spent one night together
in the cage, the new one is more or less accepted as a
member of the family.

[ 238 ]

PLATE 81

Abu Markub (father cf ’bills), a shoebill from the Sudan. One of the
rarest of birds in captivity

SIOOPUT I92UIM Adu TL,

‘sosUIWe uvadoiny

WINGS

Occurring only in sparse flocks in remote marshes in
the Sudan, the shoebill (Balaeniceps rex) is the only
member of its family, which is related seemingly to both
the storks and herons. Abu Markub (“father of bills’),
as the Arabs call the shoebill, has been seen in American
collections only since 1926, when one specimen came
into the New York Zoo just ten days before we brought
ours to Washington. Since then four more have been
imported. It is doubtful if many will come into America
in the future, for they are difficult to obtain and very
rigorously protected by the game department of the
Sudan.

While in Ceylon we had telegraphed the zoo at Khar-
tum to ask if they had any animals that we could have
in addition to the giraffe already promised us, and a
cabled reply stated that they had a shoebill. Effendi
Skandar Armenius, who brought him to us at Port Sudan,
told us that he should be fed with fresh fish, served to
him at the end of a long stick. So we secured fifty pounds
of fish from the market and had it put in cold storage.
But Abu did not eat fish once during the voyage. For
four days he ate nothing. And yet it was plain he needed
food. He stood nearly four feet high, with long legs
and a short neck, pale yellowish eyes, and a tremendous
broad bill, sharply hooked at the end, which has somewhat
the appearance of a wooden shoe and gives the bird his
name. He would look at us reproachfully and shake his
head from side to side when we offered him food, opening
his mouth savagely when we approached and then throw-
ing out the fish we had hurriedly deposited there. It was
a very distressing situation, for we knew that up to that
time no shoebills had been seen in American zoos; more-
over, he had cost a great deal of money, in addition to
the fifty-dollar export tax charged by the Government
on each of these birds.

The fourth day out we had butchered a steer for meat,
and the shoebill accepted a piece of fresh lung offered him

[ 239 |

WILD ANIMALS

and swallowed it. We thought our troubles were over,
but the next morning he refused lung. He finally took
to eating white meat of chicken and during the last
seventeen days of the voyage devoured the white meat of
three chickens per day. We got him successfully to
Washington, where he lived only eighteen months, dying
of a ruptured liver, cause unknown.

We obtained another specimen the following year.
This one is still thriving. He eats each day four or five
fish as large as a man’s hand. Sometimes Abu will take
a fish from a basin of water. At other times he insists on
“service” with his meals, and then a keeper must hand
the fish one at a time on a pointed stick. He is very
friendly, will let his head be scratched, and will come to
the front of the cage. He has a curious habit of hanging
his head and shaking it from side to side, so that when
we feel humorously inclined we can ask him, “Do you
like ladies?” or “children?” or “Congressmen?” depend-
ing upon whom we are conducting through the Zoo, and
he will reply very decisively in the negative. When feeling
especially friendly he will accompany the head-shaking
by gutteral grunts.

The wild-fowl lake, where we have about a 700-foot
sweep of water backed in by a dam from Rock Creek,
usually harbors a collection of some fifty species of geese
and ducks, which live amicably together. It is here that
we find the greatest records for longevity, ten to twenty
years or more being frequently attained by its denizens.
With so many together there is not a great deal of nesting,
but now and then one of the birds will steal into a secluded
corner and produce eggs. Foremost in importance
among these is the blue goose (Chen caerulescens), which
has very rarely before been raised in captivity. A pair
of them have produced fertile eggs from which young
have been reared for three years in succession. This
constitutes a record.

Rarities in the collection include the emperor goose

[ 240 ]

asaa3 pue syonp uvouawy YON “OUI Ul [MOJ PIL,

€8 ALVId

WINGS

(Philacte canagica), which we received through the
Biological Survey from Alaska, and the maned goose
(Chenonetta jubata) from the upper reaches of the Amazon.
The latter can not endure very cold weather and must be
housed during the winter. There is a pair of the almost
extinct Hawaiian goose (Nesochen sandvicensis), an upland
form that does not frequent water but lives instead in
the valleys of extinct craters. Possibly less than half a
hundred of these interesting birds still remain in
Hawaii.

The flight cage for the eagles and vultures houses the
American bald eagle, the golden eagle, the wedge-tailed
eagle, and a variety of vultures from Africa, Asia, and
South America. Visitors have protested at seeing the
vultures roosting on perches above the symbolic eagle.
One of our bald eagles has been with us for more than
thirty years, while the longest record we have on the
golden eagle is eleven years and eight months.

Our pair of cinereous vultures, an African species,
each year make a huge nest of sticks and then patiently
sit on the eggs for about forty days. After this we decide
they are not fertile and take them away to the Museum.

Above this cage, and on the trees outside, are always to
be seen flocks of the turkey vulture, a scavenger bird
common in this part of America. From fifty to a hundred
of these birds make their headquarters at the Zoo, coming
at night to roost, and during the hard months of the
winter receiving the scraps offered. Frequently people
notify the keepers that some birds have escaped, while
other visitors notice pathos in the expression of these
wild birds as they gaze at their well-fed relatives in the
inclosure.

The highly ornate tropical king vulture is quite properly
the finest of the American vultures. One of the two that
have lived in the Park for so many years would perhaps
shudder if it knew its own history. Twenty-eight years
ago Mr. Blackburne was visiting the famous Bostock

[ 241 ]

WILD ANIMALS

Trained Animal Show in Baltimore, and noticed a king
vulture in the collection. Mr. Bostock had bought this
bird from a ship. Mr. Blackburne arranged to trade him
a young kangaroo for it. A few days after the exchange
was made came the Baltimore fire, which destroyed
Bostock’s entire collection, so that our specimen is the
sole survivor of one of the most interesting traveling
menageries ever organized.

While the Andean condor is called the largest bird that
flies, there are records of California condors of equal
size. Formerly abundant in California, the California
species is said to have been destroyed by eating poisoned
bait intended for wolves and coyotes, though some doubt
may be expressed as to this statement. It is estimated
that not more than between forty and one hundred of
these magnificent birds still remain in remote sections of
southern and Lower California.

We have the only specimens now in captivity in
eastern parks, a trio procured from Mr. W. B. Whitaker
of Peru, California, one in 1901, the other two in 1903.
They had been taken from the nest and sent to Washington
while still in the down, and at that time were fluffy white
birds the size of a large hen. Their call is a whistling
note like that of a young chicken. The first of our speci-
mens to arrive was very tame and fond of attention, and
enjoyed untying the shoestrings, poking his bill up the
pants’ leg and pulling down the sock of the head keeper,
or hiding his head in the keeper’s hands, tricks which
interested the late Secretary Langley so much that he
insisted upon having them done for him whenever he
came to visit the Park.

Each year the condors lay usually one egg, though on
two occasions the first egg was followed after an interval
by another. The value of the egg in oological catalogues
is placed at $750 per specimen, so that an occasional egg
laid by a condor is always a matter of public interest.
We have tried each time to hatch them, sometimes under

[ 242 ]

—— Oo

PLATE 84

-~B-B--00ae-

California condors, largest flying bird of America. Now nearly extinct

WINGS

the mother bird, but up to now she has invariably broken
them. We put several others in incubators, and placed
others under faithful hens, but apparently they were not
fertile. Unnoticed by the great majority of the Zoo’s visi-
tors, these birds are the center of attraction for many bird
lovers, who appreciate them not only for their rarity but
for their interest and coloring.

The finest of all of the eagles is the fierce and beautiful
and most powerful harpy eagle of tropical America, the
monkey- and sloth-eating eagle. He rarely comes into
collections, and we have had but one in our history.
He was secured by Commander C. C. Todd, U. S. N.,
commanding the U. S. S. Wilmington on its famous trip
up the Amazon in 1899, who received it as a gift from
the Governor of the State of Amazonas. It lived for
seventeen years and eleven months in our Park, at one
time attaining a weight of nineteen pounds, though at
the time of its death it had shrunk to only eight.

The various hawks and owls make especially hardy
cage birds, living well and contentedly in captivity, and
even the tropical species stand Washington winter
weather very well. The owls are fed with strips of beef
placed on the branches of their trees late in the afternoon,
and when dusk falls they fly out from their box shelters
and eat. One wonders how many rats pay for coming
into their cages at night.

We have wild owls in the Park, too, chiefly the little
screech owl, but sometimes the barred owl and the great
horned species. All of these from time to time have taken
toll of captive birds in the collection. We once lost a
number of Australian grass paroquets from a large out-
door cage. Some of them slept clinging to the mesh, with
their heads so exposed that the screech owls could dart
by and pull them off.

The curassows, guans, and chachalacas, which with the
tinamous and a few quail make up the land game-bird
fauna of South America, are nearly always represented

[ 243 ]

WILD ANIMALS

in the collection. Usually large, striking specimens,
they live well and become very tame. In South America
they are frequently found living among chicken flocks of
the Indians, and I have been able to pick up many of
them while traveling. At Humayta, on the Rio Madeira,
I secured a pair of razor-billed curassows from a native
and turned them loose on the ship on the voyage home.
I presume they did find something to eat, but on the whole
trip the only food that I actually saw them take con-
sisted of two pumpkin seeds.

A fine creasted guan, or penelope, from Rurrenabaque,
Bolivia, was our camp pet for many months. When we
moved from camp to boat he would ride on the shoulder
of an Indian, and then sit on the baggage for the day’s
journey. On clear nights we put up no tents, but only
mosquito nets, and this guan would roost on the framework
of my net, waking me early in the mofning with his
complaints. His lack of intelligence was amazing. When
we were staying in a native house he would fly to the
roof and sit there in the rain, complaining. He has
remained tame, and now when I come to the cage, goes
through a peculiar ceremony, elevating his crest, ex-
panding his throat, and indulging in a plaintive, whining
song, which ends with a sharp squeak.

American wild turkeys, a magnificent game bird, have
lived at liberty in the Park as long as six years and eight
months. The last one has now disappeared, probably
the victim of a vandal.

The various guinea fowl provide some striking speci-
mens, especially the vulturine guinea (4ecryllium vul-
turinum) of East Africa, the head and upper part of
the neck of which is naked cobalt-blue skin, while its
plumage combines blues, blacks, and whites. All these
guineas are natives of Africa, and the ancestor of the
common domestic “‘keet”’ still exists in the wild state from
Senegambia to the Niger. Among the handsomest may
be included the Grant’s crested (Guttera granti) and

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WINGS

Reichenow’s helmeted guinea fowl (Numida mitrata
reichenowi), the former having a thick tuft of feathers
on top of the head. I secured a dozen and a half of these
in the market at Dar-es-Salaam, but on the voyage home
they were attacked by the old-fashioned chicken disease,
roup, and only one survived despite everything that we
could do to cure them. On the other hand, out of thirty-
six Reichenow’s helmeted guinea fowl, also from Tan-
ganyika, only four perished, and we arrived in Washington
with a flock of thirty-two. Some of these have been sent
West in an attempt to domesticate and raise them, for
they would make a nice addition to our rather small
list of domesticated edible birds.

The guinea fowl is the great game bird of Africa, and
on safari served us as the stand-by. Often they will not
take to the wing, but have to be potted, and when they
do fly, it is in a straight line, so that it requires only fair
shooting ability to supply the mess. Sometimes a flock
will go into a tree, and with a small-caliber rifle one can
pick off a day’s supply before the others become alarmed
and leave. Guinea makes a good food, though of course
one becomes tired of it after seeing it twice a day for a
month or more. We grew especially tired when Abdul,
our second cook, would try to make chicken @ /a Maryland
out of an ancient cock. Abdul had been a deck hand on
an East African coast steamer, and his ideas of cooking
had come to him from peering through the galley window.
We would hang the birds a day or so, and then when
boiled sufficiently they were very good food, but Abdul
showed a partiality for selecting an elderly and very
freshly killed one, dipping it in flour and frying it faintly
before serving. One evening I lost my temper com-
pletely after trying to make an impression on a leg
cooked in this manner, and hit Abdul on the ear with it,
a thing one should never do. Next evening I had cause
for repentance, however, because Abdul had stayed in
camp the entire day making dough of flour and water,

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WILD ANIMALS

rolling it between the palms of his hands, and boiling it.
It was a horrible looking mess when served, and when I
asked what it might be, Abdul beamed so proudly as he
told me, “Macaroni, Bwana,” that I simply had to force
down a helping that must have weighed pounds, the
gratified cook standing at one side the whole time, ready
to replenish my dish.

The grouse family does not live well. We have had
few in the collection. The Oriental pheasants, on the
other hand, provide some of the most popular and beautiful
of birds for exhibition purposes. The commoner species,
the English, Mongolian, Reeves, ring-necked, and Lady
Amherst’s, are usually present in the collection, and some
of them have lived a number of years. The argus, one of
the larger and more beautiful of the family, has recently
been added. Two of them in the great flight cage appear
to be thriving. They spend a great deal of their time in a
tunnel beneath the rockwork, a refuge reeking with
moisture. The peacock pheasant, with the ocellated plum-
age which suggests its name, was represented in the col-
lection by a cock for a period of ten years and four months.
We kept it out-of-doors for a time and it roosted on a
branch instead of in the straw provided for it to keep its
feet warm, with the result that one foot was frozen and
afterward came off. For many years it hobbled about on
one foot and the stub of the old one. We could never
bring ourselves to put it out of the way because it seemed
so cheerful and happy. The proper place to keep pheas-
ants, of course, is in a properly constructed pheasantry, of
which we have only plans.

Various partridges and quail live happily in the col-
lection. One specimen of California valley quail has
lived in the Park already for more than nine years. Our
migratory quail, the quail of the Old Testament, were
purchased in Egypt, chiefly as food for various small
mammals we were bringing home, they being among the
cheaper meat supplies of North Africa. The few remain-

[ 246 ]

PLATE 85

Harpy eagle, most powerful South American bird of prey. Eighteen
years in the National Zoo

Sunod paud

3vY-ATMoU YIM [[os

TOATIS UvITEIISNY

WINGS

ing at the end of our voyage were caged with a group of
assorted African weavers and have done remarkably well.
The singular migratory habits of this quail deserve
mention; some of them summer in northern Europe
and winter in Africa; others make the trip from north
to south Asia. During the migration they fly, of course,
high in the air, but when they settle down into their
summer or winter homes, they become again secretive
birds, frequenting sheltering grasses and undergrowth.

The little jungle fowl of India merits a place in the
collection, because it is probably the ancestor of our
domestic breeds of poultry. Zoological parks occasionally
maintain a collection of the various domestic breeds of
fowl, some of which are very striking, especially the Japa-
nese form, the Yokohama fowl, in which the tail of the cock
grows to a length of ten or fifteen feet; and the Araucanian
fowl of western South America which lays eggs distinctly
blue-green in color. A Chilean scientist once presented
a single hen to our Park, and it proceeded to lay blue-
green eggs at once. A newspaper account of this resulted
in requests from all over the United States for a setting
of these blue-green eggs.

The ordinary peacocks need not be kept in cages, and
a couple of dozen of these live at liberty in the grounds
about the Park, adding greatly to its appearance. Males
in full plumage from June to December seek every
occasion to show their plumage to the females, from
which trait they have the reputation, perhaps unjustly,
of being the vainest of birds. In the spring the hen will
wander off in the deep woods and reappear some time
later with a brood, usually five or six, so that the flock
maintains itself very well, though on account of mor-
tality among the young, caused by wild predacious mam-
mals, birds, and small boys in the Park, it has never
increased very much. One peacock, a magnificent bird,
developed a habit of attacking its own reflection in any
shining surface, choosing preferably new automobiles.

[ 247]

WILD ANIMALS

So many protests came in from the owners of these cars
that we had to send him away. Then one of our white
peacocks resented, by jumping and using his spurs,
small boys’ attempts to steal his tail feathers. After the
third casualty had been brought to our attention for first
aid, we put the peacock into the large flight cage, where
small boys can not go.

At Easter time it is usual for the President of the
United States to receive from various admirers newly-
hatched chicks which have been dyed various shades of
purple, green, vermilion, and scarlet. These often reach
the Zoo and create as much attention as a real species.
The most remarkable example of this sort of thing we
have ever received was a turkey, originally white, that
had been skillfully colored red, white, and blue. It
finally shed its feathers and became perfectly white.
For several years thereafter visitors would inquire what
had become of it.

The kagu (Rhynochetos jubatus), said to be related to
both the herons and the bitterns, belongs in a family
by itself. It is found only in New Caledonia, but the
presence of its portrait on the early stamps of that
country has made it well known. The males are pug-
nacious, though several of ours have been very timid.
They are usually silent, but on occasion can make a
violent hubbub, for all the world like a puppy with
glorified vocal cords that has had its tail stepped on
and at the same time is barking at something else. The
last time our kagus broke loose vocally there were two
in the cage. When one stopped, perhaps for a rest, the
other would take up the chant where he had left off.
We fled to the parrot room for quiet, and found the very
parrots looking subdued and inferior, for this squawking
was even more efficient than theirs.

Among the rails the most interesting that we have had
are the weka or flightless rail of New Zealand (Ocydromus
australis), Earl’s weka (Ocydromus earli), and the short-

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WINGS

winged weka (Ocydromus brachypterus), heavy-set birds
with very poorly developed wings and villainous dis-
positions, so much so that we have never been able to
keep more than one in a cage. They are exceedingly
hardy birds, and two of our specimens have been with
us now for nearly eleven years. The great size of the egg
in proportion to the bird is remarkable, as it weighs
about one-third as much as the mother bird. Numerous
other rails have been in the collection and have lived
very well.

Perhaps the most ornamental of all of the larger birds
are the cranes, of which we have exhibited thirteen
species at various times. Among these, again, we find
records for longevity. An Australian crane still in the
collection has been here now for more than twenty-four
years, and an Indian white crane over twenty-two. The
whooping crane, now practically extinct, we have had
on three occasions, one specimen for a little over twelve
years. Some time ago an animal dealer telephoned me
in the evening, saying that he had just secured a white
crane three feet high. Next morning we hurried to his
quarters, expecting to find a whooping crane, but he
had mistaken a heron for one.

When I first came into the Zoo, I was worried about
the quarters for these cranes. They had no shelter, and
the sight of birds, some of them normally tropical in
habit, standing or sitting in a sleet storm filled me with
misgivings. But the head keeper, in answer to my sug-
gestion that we build sheds, told me of his many years
of experience with cranes. They do not like sheds, and
usually will not go into them. They live with obvious
comfort through the nastiest parts of our winter
season.

In addition to being ornamental and living satisfactorily
in captivity, cranes also indulge in weird dances, bobbing
their long necks, elevating one wing after the other, and
stamping or hopping grotesquely about the inclosures.

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WILD ANIMALS

Related to the cranes are the trumpeters which come
from tropical America, naturally the tamest and most
gentle of all this group, but wicked with other birds.
I have been told by several people in Brazil that when a
hunter shoots a mother trumpeter, her flock of young
will follow the hunter home and take up their abode
voluntarily in the chicken yard. Whether this be true
or not I do not know, but it is a fact that one commonly
finds trumpeters among the domestic chickens in South’
America, where it is said that they serve in driving away
enemies of the fowls.

The gulls do best when provided with plenty of flying
space in large cages, and under these conditions live
almost indefinitely and breed freely. A flock of Australian
silver gulls, which was brought into the National Park’s
collection a little over six years ago, has bred regularly and
increases annually.

It seems a pity that such striking birds as the skimmers,
shearwaters, and puffins do not do well, but we have
never had any particular success with them.

The various doves and pigeons are among the most
admirable of all birds for aviaries. We have had some
forty species in the collection. The most noted member of
this family in America was the last survivor of the famous
passenger pigeons, so amazingly abundant in the early
days, which lived for twenty-eight years in the zoological
garden at Cincinnati, long after its species was extinct else-
where. When it died it came to the National Museum to
be preserved. An Inca dove (Scardafella inca) and a zebra
dove (Geopelia striata), still alive in the collection, have
been here for more than twelve years.

Some of the most gorgeous birds in this group are the
Polynesian and Malayan pigeons, equaling in brilliance
of plumage the gaudy parrots of the same region. Fiji is
especially notable for this type of bird. None of them
do very well in captivity. Out of thirty-six green pigeons
I secured in Ceylon on the way back from Africa, only

[ 250]

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48 ALVId

sou ST uo Y4IOIS oyTyM uvadoiny

88 ULV Id

WINGS

six survived the voyage to Boston, and all of these died
within a few months. Some, especially the larger fruit
pigeons, have been hunted a great deal, though at present
they are rigidly protected by the Government.

I once had an exciting hunt for a large species on the
island of Ono i Lau in Fiji. The native captain of our
cutter invited me to accompany him on a pigeon hunt.
He had an antiquated single-barreled shotgun and two
cartridges. We sailed across to a small, uninhabited
island nearby, and soon flushed three of these birds.
They flew to the other end of the island, and we sneaked
carefully after them. When within a hundred yards,
the captain stopped and carefully slipped a cartridge into
the shotgun, whereupon the birds flew back to the other
end of the island. The captain unloaded the gun, put
the cartridge in a little bag he was wearing, and we soft-
footed it back to where the birds had flown. The same
process was repeated and would have continued, I suppose,
until we dropped. But at the end of several hours, having
walked dozens of times from one end of the island to
the other, and having entirely lost my appreciation of the
care the captain took of his firearm, my taste for pigeon
hunting was glutted.

A related species frequented the island of Kandavu,
and we shot them for food a number of times. We were
astonished to find their crops full of wild nutmegs so
enormous that I do not yet understand how the birds
managed to swallow them.

Another favorite in zoos, the touracous or plantain
eaters, a small family of brightly colored birds inhabiting
Africa, are singular in having nonwashable feathers. The
color is a chemical one, due to a peculiar pigment called
turacin, once supposed to be a true metal. This is so
soluble in water that when the birds get wet the color
actually comes out of their feathers.

Nearly a hundred species of the parrot family have been
exhibited in the National Zoological Park. One can

Paani

WILD ANIMALS

usually find upwards of fifty species at any time. The
first bird ever to come to the Zoo was a sulphur-crested
cockatoo from Australia, which had spent five years in
the home of a Maryland family before it was presented
to the National collection. This occurred in the old days
when the Zoo was still down on the Smithsonian grounds.
The first bird to come to the Park on its establishment,
after an interval of nearly thirty-eight years it was also
the first bird to be transferred to the new bird house.
From all observations it is still a young, healthy bird in
good plumage, and can hold its own in squawking with
any bird in the parrot room. When a friend or visitor
approaches it will often come to the bars, opening and
closing its mouth for all the world as though it were
telling him a secret.

For zoo purposes the parrot family may be divided
into two categories, the seed eaters and those which live
on nectar and fruits. Among the latter are the lories of
the Indo-Malaysian region, which thrive on a diet of
bread soaked in milk, fruits, and regular rations of
honey.

Most parrots are tropical species which require arti-
ficial heat in winter, though some thrive outdoors through-
out the year. At the head of this list is the kea or moun-
tain parrot of New Zealand, a powerful bird, noted in
its native habitat for its practice of killing sheep. It is
said to have developed this habit from eating fat from
sheepskins exposed to dry about the sheep camps, and
later learned to attack live sheep. The keas caused such
damage to sheep that bounties were offered for their
extermination, and today they are comparatively rare in
collections. Our three specimens live in a large open cage,
and are chiefly interesting on account of their curious
dances, hopping sideways on the ground about the cage.
Sometimes they give vent to a long-drawn-out ‘““K—ee—a,”
the call which gave them their name.

The sulphur-crested cockatoo and the roseate, likewise

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from Australia, also live outdoors in Washington through-
out the year. Three of the former species escaped some
years ago. They have never left the Park, but return daily
for seed, which is left outside the cage. We have never
captured them, nor made any serious attempt to do so,
because they are quite an attraction at liberty, though the
gardener comes to the office frequently and requests with
tears in his eyes that they be killed, as he claims that they
are destroying the forest. One of them has formed the
habit of taking off great strips of bark from the trees.
Recently they have taken to biting away pieces of the
frame structure which shelters their former mates in
captivity, and threaten to demolish the shed.

Some of the cockatoos are strikingly beautiful, for
example the rare and expensive Leadbeater’s from South
Australia, whose general plumage is white, while the fore-
head, front and sides of the neck, breast, and abdomen
are tinged with rose. The crest is crimson at the base,
yellow in the center, and white at the tip, and is elevated
on various occasions, while the bird waves its head
enthusiastically.

The great black cockatoo from New Guinea contrasts
sharply with the great white cockatoo from the Moluccas.
The former has an enormous crest of blue-black feathers
and great pale rosy patches on its cheeks. One of our
specimens was captured by Mr. Frost, a noted bird
collector, who brought it from New Guinea to London,
whence it came as a pet to an American home. Each time
I] heard it utter a squawk or two, I remarked, “That is
one squawk nearer the Zoo,’ whereat the lady who
owned it would remonstrate that pretty Josephine would
never so misbehave as to have to be deposited with us.
However, the family took the cockatoo with them to a
summer home in New York State, and one day a telegram
came, asking for someone to come and bring the bird
away before it drove the family insane. Steam rollers
were at work on the road in front of the house, and their

[253]

WILD ANIMALS

racket inspired the bird to fearful lengths in compe-
tition.

The macaws, perhaps the gaudiest of the larger parrots,
have few superiors in hardihood among the birds of the
collection. A hyacinthine macaw of the central provinces
of Brazil, immediately catches the eye appreciative of
beauty. The plumage is nearly uniform cobaltlike blue re-
lieved by bright yellow skin around the eyes. In its own
country it haunts the inland ponds of the dense interior
forest, where it feeds on the fruit of a certain palm, crush-
ing the heavy seeds in its powerful black bill. Next to nuts
the macaw loves to bite wire, and we had to take our
hyacinthine out of its regular cage in the bird house and
place it in a small cage which can be renewed from time
to time as the bird destroys it.

The yellow and blue macaw (4ra ararauna), which
ranges from Panama to Bolivia, and the larger and even
more brilliantly plumaged red and blue and yellow macaw
(Ara macao) are well-known zoo birds. They sometimes
become attached to their keepers, but like all other
macaws give way to violent fits of screaming.

The only one of the parrot family really indigenous to
America north of Mexico is the beautiful though noisy
Carolina paroquet, a small yellow, orange, and green
bird which formerly extended northward as far as New
York and Wisconsin, and whose brilliant plumage has
resulted inits extermination. Occasionally still a rumor
arises that some have been seen in the extreme southern
States, but it is doubtful if any now remain alive. The
Park has had three during its history, one of which lived
for over fifteen years.

Occasionally a Mexican species, the thick-billed parrot,
wanders north into southern Arizona, and so has been
given a place on our list. It occurs more commonly in
Mexico, where most specimens are captured.

The hawk parrot of South America has a glorious crown

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of feathers on its head which it can elevate at will—its own
will, not the keeper’s, for no one can make him perform.

The tropical American group, and especially those
from the Amazon, are blunt-tailed parrots of which more
than half a hundred species are distributed over South
America. They are all easily tamed and make highly
prized pets because of their facility in learning to repeat
words and even to whistle and sing tunes. There is the
old story of Humboldt in South America, who met a
parrot which had belonged to a tribe of Indians that had
become extinct, and from the bird he obtained all the
words of the tribal dialect that are known.

We once secured a specimen of the large green mealy
parrot of this group from Indians who came in to Huachi.
Huachi is the metropolis of the upper Middle Beni, and
consists of two palm shacks. Every two years these Indi-
ans would come on a twelve-days’ march from their abode
to the village, in order to trade flat bird skins for salt.
They had with them on this occasion the mealy parrot.
A handful of salt bought it, and after five years it is still
living comfortably in our Park. These Indians, by the
way, were the most uninterested folk I ever encountered.
They stayed about our camp for a day. Moving-picture
machines and various camp equipment and impedimenta
received not the slightest attention. They wanted salt
and nothing else, and when they had traded bows, arrows,
and bark-cloth costumes to us for a sufficient supply,
they wrapped it up in large leaves, tied it with fiber, and
disappeared again into the forest.

Among the dainty members of the parrot family are
the love birds. There exist ten species of these, all from
Africa and Madagascar, eight of which are seen in cap-
tivity. Their quiet notes make them much more attrac-
tive as household pets than the little South American
paroquets of the raucous voices, and they will do very
well even in small cages, where they make nests and
raise young, sometimes with great regularity.

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WILD ANIMALS

Equally small and beautiful, yet much more delicate,
are the tiny upside-down or hanging lories (Loriculus)
from the East Indies. They grow scarcely larger than the
canaries, and have brilliant plumage. Unfortunately
they do not live very long in captivity even when supplied
with bread, milk, fruit, and boiled rice, which they take
in preference to the usual birdseed of the ordinary parrot.
And still smaller and even more beautiful are the tiny
Nasiternas (Micropsitia) from New Guinea and the
Solomon Islands, some not so large as a canary and yet
perfect short-tailed, miniature parrots. I have never seen
any out of their native habitat, but undoubtedly they will
eventually come into collections. We know nothing of
their habits.

Though the parrots seem particularly adaptable to
captivity, certain relatives of theirs, such as the king-
fishers and the bee-eaters do not do well and are rarely
exhibited, while other relatives, the hornbills and owls,
again are hardy birds frequently seen. The hornbills,
confined to the Old World, are notable for their enormous
and grotesque bills. They become tame and do well in
captive quarters. We often roll food up in balls which
we toss into the air for our hornbills. Some of the Indian
species exhibit a curious custom; during the egg-laying
and incubating season the male seals the female in the
cavity of a tree, with mud. Here she remains until the
young birds are almost fully fledged, the male assiduously
supplying her with food. I recently saw such nesting by
two captive Jackson’s hornbills in Frankfurt, Germany.

The heavy forests of the remote Solomon Islands are
frequented by a fine large hornbill which I have never
seen in captivity. The natives call it “kuri-kuri” from the
sound which it makes as it flies out of a tree. I once
shot one as a specimen, and then the pounds of good-
looking flesh on the bird seemed to me, tired of tinned
New Caledonia meats, too good to waste; so I gave it to
the wife of my planter host, insisting that it would make

[ 256 ]

PLATE, 89

BR Moore

King vultures from South America. One of them is the sole survivor
of the famous Bostock menagerie

WINGS

good Hamburg steak. It did when mixed with onions,
and from then on we varied our tinned diet with hornbill.
Later, when I returned to the States, I read a natural
history of this bird and learned that because of its filthy
feeding habits even the Malayans disdain to eat it. I
still hope that my friends in the Islands, who to this day
are perhaps having an occasional feast of kuri-kuri,
never come across the same natural history that I
did.

Hornbills are generally shy in the wild state, but
become very tame in captivity, so much so that they will
come to the bars of their cage and respond to friendly
greetings. They have a curious habit of hopping about
sideways both on the perch and on the ground.

The fantastic American toucans have bills developed
proportionately even more than the hornbills, and in
addition are birds of brilliant plumage, rivaling the parrots
and macaws in this respect. In flight one gets the im-
pression of a long beak, with an engine behind to propel
it. They also become tame quickly.

The proverbially grave and sedate owls take kindly to
captivity, where they sit in the gloomiest part of their
cage, perfectly motionless throughout the day, staring at
an intruder with a wild dazed look, sometimes hissing
and snapping their beaks. Yet they are attractive to
visitors. Twelve species are represented in our collec-
tion, among them the rare morepork owl from New Zea-
land, which derives its name from its peculiar cry.

There is at times a periodic scarcity of food in the sub-
Arctic regions which drives south hordes of snowy owls,
and in these years it has been necessary for zoological gar-
dens actually to publish notices in the papers that they do
not wish to purchase any more of these usually rare birds.
Despite their size and strength and the fact that they
feed well, they do not thrive in captivity.

Our prize owl specimen is the albino of the great
horned owl, the second one known. The collector took it

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WILD ANIMALS

from its nest with an ordinary. colored brother in one of the
southernmost States, and from the letter offering it to the
Park for sale I had some doubt as to whether it was
merely a young one in the down or an albino. It proved
to be the latter, and so far as I know, the second speci-
men on record.

Despite the fact that the barn owl, or monkey-faced
owl, is one of the commonest of the family, and frequents
teas and old buildings, it seems to be, judging from Zoo
correspondence, unknown to the great majority of people.
The letter which commences with “I have just caught a
large bird never seen here before” usually goes on to
describe a barn owl.

In the same general group of birds come the wood-
peckers and flickers. Our experience with woodpeckers
has been such that we no longer attempt to exhibit them,
but a lovely Gila woodpecker from Tucson, Arizona, has
now been living here for three years as a contented cage
bird.

The passerine birds are legion, and include most of the
smaller species exhibited, the majority of which prove
joyous captives, living, 1 believe, longer in captivity
than they would if left at liberty. Five or six years is an
average life in the wild state for the small perching birds,
while our longevity records shows that they average much
more than this in captivity.

We do not keep native local birds; they can be seen at
home in the Park. But we do try to maintain a repre-
sentative collection of the foreign birds which would not
otherwise be seen by the bird-lover. So in the small
bird room at the bird’ house there are flocks of bulbuls,
Japanese hill-tits, weaver birds, and various finches,
interspersed with an occasional unusual or striking form
such as a bird of Paradise—really an ornate relative of
the crow with an unusually raucous call. There is our
Australian crow, a great favorite, who greets visitors
in the morning with ‘“‘Hello!’ and toward the middle of

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WINGS

the afternoon changes it to “All out!’ He has friends who
come to see him from far and wide, and they give him
pennies which he plays with for a time and then secretes
in one corner of his cage, where they eventually become
the property of the keeper. He has contributed as much
as twenty-one cents to his keeper in a single day. Could
this be kept up regularly, rivalry for the chance of tending
him would develop. He has lived here more than thirteen
years, welcoming and dismissing visitors in the same way,
and garnering pennies when afforded the opportunity.

The weavers, plain-colored birds at times and vividly
colored at others, and the finches make up most of the
collection of small birds. The orioles, cardinals, and
others having a place here are too numerous to discuss in
a work of this sort. However, any account of birds in
the National Zoological Park would be incomplete without
the tale of our Javanese mynah. The mynahs occur
throughout the East Indies in numerous species, and also
in various parts of the world, such as Fiji, Hawaii, and
even British Columbia, where they have been introduced
for supposedly beneficial purposes, but have usually
developed into pests.

The crested mynah from Eastern Asia, which is now a
common inhabitant in parts of British Columbia, has been
represented by only one specimen, which came here as a
gift from the writing traveler, Miss Genevieve Wimsatt.
When it arrived at the Zoo it would call a ’ricksha in
Chinese and whistle a bar or two of song in the same
language, but the report that it read for the keepers
their Chinese laundry slips is gross exaggeration. All
of these birds can be taught to talk, and their voices are
much more humanlike than those of any of the parrots.
Two placed in adjoining cages will learn phrases from
each other and greatly increase their vocabulary.

Our most noted bird was brought to us from Java by
Dr. H. C. Kellers of the Navy, who was then surgeon to
an astronomical expedition. When the bird was secured

[259]

WILD ANIMALS

it could speak a sentence or two in Javanese. The sailors
aboard the transport increased its vocabulary somewhat,
and then some unknown person at the Zoo put on the
final touch. The Smithsonian Institution held a con-
ference to which the President and his Cabinet came,
with the Board of Regents and other most consequential
people, to listen to speeches and to visit small booths,
each containing an exhibit from one of the branches of
the Institution. The Zoo booth contained a rare small
mammal or two, a pen of turtles, a tank of frogs, and the
Javanese mynah as one of the bird exhibits. When the
speeches were over, the party broke up to look at the col-
lections, and as no less a person than the Director of the
Budget, General H. M. Lord himself, entered the Zoo
booth, the mynah asked him with perfect clarity, “How
about the appropriation?”

There was just the proper amount of irritation in his
voice, and the General turned and asked, ““Who educated
that bird?”

The bird reiterated, “How about the appropriation?”

The General, visibly nonplussed, and perhaps dismayed
also at the sight of newspaper reporters snapping lead
pencils in their hurry to take notes, turned to a friend
and remarked, “That is impertinent,” to which the mynah
rejoined, “‘So’s your old man.”

We of the Zoo were, of course, deeply humiliated at
this unseemly conduct on the part of one of our charges,
but the story became one of the General’s favorites.

An animal dealer heard the bird one day, and turned
to me to say, “That is a two-hundred-dollar bird.”
The month before we had received an appropriation of
$30,000, and even as he mentioned his paltry idea of
the value of the bird we could hear the activities of
workmen on the outside of the bird house, preparing
ground to install outdoor cages, amply provided for by
the new appropriation.

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CHAPTER XXI
THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

Tue zoological park which includes a reptile house
invariably finds this the most crowded and popular of
its buildings, so much so that in certain foreign zoos
where admission is charged the visitor must pay an
extra fee to visit the reptile house. This popularity may
be traceable in part to a genuine interest in these lower
vertebrates and to an admiration for their beauty, but
in the main we must account for it as a fascination caused
by repugnance. The great majority of reptiles are per-
fectly harmless animals, but the few that have the power
of dealing sinister and horrible death have given a malign
reputation to all. To some of the most innocent and
harmless forms, solicitous nature has given a horrible ap-
pearance as a means, and sometimes an only means, of
defense.

Though the National Zoological Park has hitherto
lacked adequate quarters to exhibit reptiles, it has shown
some two hundred species at various times during its
history, and under present plans will construct a suitable
house for reptiles by 1930.

The tuatara, or Sphenodon, which is now known only
_ from New Zealand, was at two different periods the real
star of our reptile collection. This, one of the strangest
of reptiles, is the single living representative of a group
the rest of which became extinct during the Triassic
period of geologic history, long before the first mammals
or birds appeared on earth, even antedating the great
dinosaurs. Since this period race after race of living

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WILD ANIMALS

creatures has flourished and then vanished, but the
tuatara lived on in isolated New Zealand until the coming
of white settlers. They introduced pigs, who found this
large, chunky, lizardlike animal good to eat, so that
today it can no longer be found alive on the larger islands,
but only on two or three small rocky islets off the coast
of the north island, where a few remain, thanks to the
rigid protection afforded by the Government. Through
the courtesy of the New Zealand Government the National
Zoological Park received a specimen a few years ago.

Aside from the antiquity of its family the animal is not
particularly interesting. It looks and acts like a large
stout lizard. One of our specimens was about two feet
in length, dark olive-green in color, with a row of short,
yellowish, horn-sheathed spines along the vertebrae. In
their native habitat they dig burrows. They forage
mostly in the dark, feeding upon insects, worms, small
fishes, and crustaceans. One of their peculiarities is that
the eggs do not hatch for thirteen months, although the
embryo reaches half its full size in less than half that
time. Neither of our specimens lived more than a year,
but one has lived in the London Zoo for fourteen years,
hiding during the day in sphagnum moss provided for the
purpose, and coming out at night to feed on earthworms.

Lizards in general require sunshine and will not do well
without it. Where natural or even artificial sunlight can
be given, there is no reason why they should not live
their full span of life in the zoo, for when kept in good
condition they are ready feeders, especially if provided
with natural food.

Among those exhibited in American zoos are the Gila
monster and the Mexican beaded lizard. One of the
former lived in our Park for nineteen years and four
months. We feed them chiefly raw eggs, which they eat
with avidity, especially during the warm seasons of the
year. They are handsome animals, large in size and easily
cared for, and one may point to the case containing the

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THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

two species and assure the visitor that it contains a
collection of all of the poisonous lizards known.

The Gila monster has developed poison glands. When
it bites it holds on and chews, and the poison runs into
the wound. The toxicity of this venom has furnished a
topic for perennial dispute, but there is little doubt that
under certain conditions the bite can be very serious.

The several species of little horned “toads” of the South-
west, of all the lizards, appear most often on exhibi-
tion. People bring them North as curiosities or pets
and deposit them sometimes by the dozen in the Zoo.
Though they appear hardy and phlegmatic, they prove
almost impossible to keep for any length of time. If
they live through the winter they almost invariably die
in the spring. To acclimatize them to captivity, a diet
of live ants in quantities greater than is practicable to
provide for them would be necessary.

Recently a wide revival of interest in the horned toad
has resulted from a newspaper story about a living
specimen reported to have been sealed for thirty-five
years in the cornerstone of a Texas courthouse. Absurd
as the story was, thousands believed it and came to zoos
in great numbers to look at the animal which could
endure for so long without food, air, water, and sunshine.
Just how this lizard got into the cornerstone we probably
shall never know, but it is certain that it had not been
there long. Considering the difficulty that we have had
in keeping this little animal alive for more than a year,
it occurred to us after the story came out that perhaps a
solution of our problem would be to seal one up in a
cement block and simply exhibit the block.

It has been known for years that the horned toad has
the odd defensive habit of shooting blood from its eyes.
This is not at all a common occurrence, and of many
hundreds that I have caught I have seen only two who
made use of the capacity. One of these shot blood in
sharp spurts a distance of several feet.

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WILD ANIMALS

Various types of small lizards from the Southwest,
such as the collared lizard (Crotaphytus collaris), the alli-
gator lizard (Dracaena guianensis), and Gerrhonotus spe-
cies, make attractive exhibits, but do not live long in
captivity.

The larger forms exhibited include the monitors, which
do rather better than most in captivity, displaying a
fondness for old raw eggs, and the tegu from South
America (Tupinambis teguixin), large and conspicuously
marked, which does well. This species occasionally does
damage to the natives in South America by catching and
eating small chickens from the barnyard. In a yard in
Brazil I once saw one grab a tiny chick. The mother
hen, by the way, atavistically indulged in a ruse common
to wild birds of her family, namely, of pretending herself
to be wounded, flopping along the ground as though she
had a broken wing, in a vain attempt to attract the
lizard’s attention. I have never seen this repeated.

Especially familar to all circus and carnival visitors is
the American or false chameleon from the Southeastern
States, which is exposed for sale collared and chained to
large green boards. When treated sensibly it will live for a
long time, and makes an attractive and pretty pet. The
circus man tells us to feed it sugar water, which it never
touches, but during the warmer weather it will eat flies
and other small insects with avidity. One which I kept
for some time would lie stretched out on my forefinger
and when I would “point” at a fly, he would suddenly
dart forward and grab the fly without losing his hold of
the finger.

These, of course, are not true chameleons, but they
have remarkable powers of changing color, ranging from
dark brown to pale greenish yellow, according to their
condition, disposition, and temperature. Only in very
warm weather do they display activity. In the West
Indies other species of the genus are the dominant lizards,
and can be seen by the dozens on bright days disporting

[ 264 ]

PLATE 90

The tegu, a lizard from South America which sometimes
preys on small chicks

PLATE 91

Upper: African chameleon, the true chameleon
Lower: Soft-shelled tortoise from Tanganyika

——

THE COLED-BLOODED TRIBE

on trees and fences, and from time to time inflating their
throats.

The true chameleons are sluggish, delicate animals,
which seldom do well in captivity or live for more than
a few months. Few animals arouse more popular interest
than these, due to their curious habit of changing color
in response to emotional excitation, to their weird ability
of moving their large conical eyes independently of each
other, to their large and curious feet, to their watch-
springlike prehensile tails, and above all, to the enor-
mously developed tongues, which they can shoot out to
an incredible distance, accurately pegging a fly.

One of the older foearohiats: writing of a pet chameleon,
states that only once did he ever see it miss a fly, and then
the fly was on the other side of the glass. In the zoo at
Gizeh, Egypt, it was a common practice to tip the care-
taker of the small-reptile house a penny or so, in return
for which he would put a fly or two in the chameleon cage.

We brought some fifty of these (Chamaeleon dilepis)
home from Tanganyika, but none of them lived longer
than six months, despite everything we could do.

Australia harbors a number of large lizards, the water
dragon (Physignathus lesueurii), the blue-tongued lizard
(Tiliqua scincoides), the stump-tailed lizard (Trachysaurus
rugosus), and Cunningham’s or Australian skink (Egernia
cunninghami), some of which have done very well here.
All of these feed on bits of meat or raw egg.

The vegetarian lizards lend themselves better to life in
captivity, chief among these being the Neo-tropical iguana,
which grows to a large size, and with its relatives, the
Mexican comb lizard (Ctenosaura teres), the rhinoceros
iguana (Cyclura stejnegeri) from Mona Island, and others,
feeds on bananas, other fruits, and lettuce. Though
vegetarian, some of them are not too strict to take an
occasional ration of raw meat.

The common tuberculated iguana ([guana iguana) is a
favorite food in many parts of tropical America, and its

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WILD ANIMALS

eggs, strung together, are seen for sale in the markets.
The Colombian Indians will seize an iguana, slit it open
with a knife, remove the eggs, and then let the mutilated
animal go, with the idea that it will heal itself, or more
often with no idea at all, one of the vilest examples of
cruelty to animals that I have encountered.

The basilisk lizard (Basiliscus vittatus), with the curious
topknot on its head, has twice appeared in our collec-
tion. This forms one of the commoner lizards in Central
America, and is known to the English-speaking natives of
Panama as the Jesus lizard, from its curious habit of
skipping across the surface of water.

We have a cage of four large African rock pythons
(Python sebae), the best eaters I know of among snakes.
When mealtime comes (and with this particular group
appetites are developed at least every two weeks), we
supply a crate of thirty dead pigeons. If live specimens
were placed in the reptiles’ quarters, fights would result
when two snakes seized the same pigeon. Sometimes,
when such fights do occur, the snake that reaches the
other one first will keep on swallowing, and swallow not
only the pigeon but its cage mate. So we hand the pigeons
one by one to the snakes with a pair of long wooden
forceps. These particular pythons take them right off
the forceps and commence swallowing. Sometimes when
one pigeon has nearly disappeared down the gullet,
another one is pushed up against it, and so on with four
or five in succession, till the snake is gorged.

The pythons and boas are the commonest of the large
snakes and the best suited for life in captivity. The well-
known South American boa constrictor itself comes regu-
larly into the market. It is usually a small snake com-
pared with the pythons, though the name is commonly
applied to any large tropical snake. Two that I had as
pets became very tame. They were about four feet long,
and lived in a glass hood in my laboratory.

It is obviously difficult to estimate the length of a

[ 266 ]

THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

living snake, always in coils and twisted, and invariably
the size is exaggerated, especially by people who have
been “‘pursued” by them and by dealers who have them
for sale. Receiving a dealer’s price list offering boa con-
strictors up to twelve feet in length at $2.00 a foot, I
hurried to New York and asked to see them. A large
packing case full of snakes was brought out and we took
out the largest, stretched it on a table, the dealer pulling
at one end and I at the other, while a friend took the
measurement. It was eight and a half feet, which meant
a saving of exactly seven dollars for the United States
Government.

The condition as well as the disposition of these big
snakes varies with the temperature, and at Para, Brazil,
where a collection is kept in the open, covered with wire
mesh, they will throw themselves at the visitor, hissing
and striking.

Ten years is the longest that a boa constrictor has lived
in our Park. A Cuban tree boa (Epicrates angulifer) has
been here nearly twelve years and an Indian python
(Python molurus) over eleven, but our record is held by a
specimen of the great water boa, or anaconda, which was
presented to the Park by the Governor of the State of
Para, Brazil, and lived for more than twenty-eight years
in a gloomy cage.

Eight years has been our record for longevity in rattle-
snakes, and this was made by only one of 110 specimens
of a single species, the Florida diamond, largest of its
genus. One may venture a guess that this comparatively
short span of life in captivity results from lack of the
sunshine which the snake requires. The rattlers make
peaceful reptiles in a cage and, though they rattle fiercely,
very seldom strike at the keeper.

While on a camping trip in northern Texas one early
autumn, I caught twenty-two rattlers, of which only two
showed any particular fight. One of them behaved so
well that to this day I regret having killed and pickled

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WILD ANIMALS

him, even though in the cause of science. I was fishing
for frogs with bits of bright-red paper torn from the cover
of my notebook as bait, when a cowboy friend shouted
that there was a rattler beneath me. I looked down and
saw one crawling between my legs. I struck it a number
of times with a fishing rod, and then wrapped it in a
handkerchief and put it in the shade until I finished
obtaining a mess of frog legs for supper. Later, as I was
carrying the handkerchief package in one hand and the
rod in the other toward the chuck wagon, the same cowboy
yelled that the snake was coming out. I looked down
again. It was not dead, and its head and twelve inches
of body were swinging alongside my leg as I carried it.
In either instance it could have bitten and did not.

The copperhead, equally poisonous, does as well as
the rattler in captivity, especially when fed on frogs, if
kept in a moderately moist cage. It is, despite its awful
reputation, a beautiful snake, and easy to obtain, especially
in the southeastern part of the United States. One of our
specimens actually came from within the city limits of
Boston, caught there on Great Blue Hill by Mr. Arthur
Loveridge.

Despite the fact that during early boyhood snakes
were my commonest pets, I have had but one bad ex-
perience with them, and that was with the copperhead.
While wandering along Christian Creek in Virginia looking
for snakes to occupy a new snake cage—formerly a honey
box with a glass front which we had purchased from
the local grocery—my roommate and I turned a log.
A small copperhead on the other side was turned over
and lay there, belly up. I thought it a milk snake and
picked it up, to discover that I had mistaken the identity.
My roommate, who had never seen one alive before, was
thrilled. Holding the snake’s head between thumb and
finger, I opened its mouth with a pair of forceps, and
lectured learnedly on the fangs and poison sac. At the
end of the lecture the demonstration occurred. The

[ 268 |

PLATE 92

Land iguana, a lizard two and a half feet long, collected in the Galapa-

gos and presented to the Zoo by Gifford Pinchot

PLATE 93

A peaceful Zoo animal

American rattlesnake.

THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

snake, by a quick effort, wriggled loose and sunk his
fangs into my left forefinger. In those days there were
no serums. We wouldn’t have had any with us even if
there had been. So we tied the finger at the base, and
then proceeded, with a knife whose dullness I remember
vividly to this day, to make a cut and let out the blood.
There followed a three-mile walk back to Staunton,
where we stopped at the doctor’s before returning to the
dormitory. The only thing the doctor did was to suggest
with several strong words my absolute lack of brains,
and to pull the band off the finger. The book in which I
had read about letting out blood had said nothing about
letting any back, so for four months I had a numb finger.
Being ordered to bed for a day or two gave me ample
time to read some more about copperheads, and the
statement ““This snake is very dangerous, causing serious
illness and frequent death by its bite” is all I can remember
of what I read at the time.

The only other American representative of this group
of poison snakes is the water moccasin, usually vicious,
but attractive and hardy in captivity.

Belonging to the same family as the above three snakes
are those of the genus Bothrops, which includes a famous
bushmaster and a fer-de-lance. Dr. Vital Brazil, the
celebrated student of snakes and their venom, sent us a
collection of six species in this genus, in the care of
Dr. Waldo Schmitt of the National Museum. Schmitt,
taking wonderful care of them, landed in New York ona
cold day, and got the snakes all alive to Washington by
putting them in his Pullman berth adjacent to a couple
of hot-water bottles. The snakes, by the way, were
in boxes.

We have had few cobras, only those we brought home
from Tanganyika, the Egyptian species (Naja haie), and
the black-necked spitting cobra (Naja nigricollis). The
latter can shoot its poison to a distance of five or six feet,
and the first month that it was here filled one of the

[ 269 |

WILD ANIMALS

eyes of the head keeper with its venom. He washed it
immediately with a strong boracic acid solution, and the
result was only an inflamed condition that lasted a week.
There are records of more serious damage having been
done. This snake prefers small rabbits to any other
food, and will eat a half dozen of them at a meal.

On the same expedition we secured a collection of
boomslangs (Dispholidus typus). They lived but a short
time because we could not get enough lizards, their
usual food, to satisfy them. At first, when excited they
would inflate their throats to a length of perhaps six
inches, which gave them a grotesque appearance, as
though they had suddenly swallowed a large frankfurter
sausage, but they soon became tame and refused to make
this display.

Of the nonpoisonous American snakes that we have
had in the collection, the common black snake (Coluber
constrictor), the chicken snake (Elaphe quadrivittata),
and the water snake (Natrix sipedon) have made the best
records. The last is very easy to keep, as it will feed
readily on fish cut in small strips and thrown into the
tank of water in the cage.

Heterodon contortrix, the spreading adder or blowing
viper, one of our most feared reptiles, not only lives
well in captivity but makes an admirable pet, becoming
gentle. One soon notices one of its curious habits—that
of “playing ’possum.” A freshly-caught adder will roll
over on its back and lie motionless, simulating death
even to the extent of hanging its tongue, half distended,
from its mouth. When the annoyer leaves, it will wriggle
right side up and crawl off, but if caught again will
repeat the performance. After a short time in captivity
the snake becomes so accustomed to its caretakers that
it will no longer go through this interesting ceremony.

Various types of Crocodilia are known in zoos. They
are usually sluggish animals, restricting their activity to
lying about.

[ 270 ]

THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

We have had 358 of the common American alligators
in the Zoo since its inception. The longest that one has
lived has been nineteen years. Most of our accessions
were small ones, brought North as pets and soon dis-
carded. They spend most of their time lying about or
floating in the water, but on Mondays and Thursdays, »
when they are fed, there is a great commotion in the cage.
Fish are handed to them on the end of long sticks, and
eagerly torn off and devoured. Formerly we kept ‘them
in an open lake during the summer, where, invigorated
by the long hot season with lots of sunshine, they became
very active, and there was always an exciting time in
the early fall when they had to be caught and put back
in the heated house for the winter. In the new reptile
house which we are to build the coming year, we plan
an open. lake for these animals in the summer time,
but expect to have a chute through which to drive them
back when the weather begins to get cold.

Mr. Blackburne contributes the following reminiscences:

The Park has always been well supplied with alliga-
tors. Many tourists to Florida have brought back with
them as souvenirs small ones ranging in length from eight
to ten and twelve inches. Their owners kept them in
bathtubs, wash tubs in the cellar, and all sorts of places.
In most cases the alligators refused to eat, and were finally
presented to the Park. The largest specimens exhibited
here, from six feet nine inches to nine feet long, were all
little alligators when received.

One day in summer two of the larger alligators had a
severe battle. One was gripped by the foreleg above the
foot, and as they thrashed about in the water the foot
was severed and hung by the skin. We caught and re-
moved the wounded alligator, lashed him to a board nine
feet long and one foot wide, and cut the skin holding the
dangling foot, entirely separating it from the body. We
got together needle, thread, splints, cotton, plaster, and
bandages. Then we sewed the foot back in place,

[raga

WILD ANIMALS

wrapped it in cotton, arranged splints, and made a
plaster cast. The alligator was returned to his quarters
and ten weeks later the cast was removed. The foot
proved to be as good as before the accident, except for
some stiffness and a small seam, which showed where it
had been sewed together.

Because of lack of housing facilities we have never
made any particular attempt to secure crocodiles, but
have had two at different times. Once, at Miami, Florida,
a dealer in curios called my attention to a baby alligator
in his possession which had a nose altogether too long
for such an animal. It was in reality a young American
crocodile, quite a different thing, which I purchased and
brought home in a pasteboard box.

In the swamp of San Antonio, in Bolivia, when traveling
in a carreton drawn by oxen, which carries one over dry
land, through mud and water, and even through deep
water, I once saw a spectacled cayman, about three feet
long, swim beneath the cart. I caught it with the aid of
the handle of a butterfly net, and brought it home.

The various turtles, tortoises, and terrapins make ideal
exhibition animals, provided they are given reasonably
good quarters. The purely aquatic species are best shown
in aquaria. Others require access both to water and to
dry areas in their inclosure. Among the most interesting
are the giant tortoises of the Galapagos Islands (Testudo
species), of which we have six, two of them having been
here for more than thirty years. These spend the summer
in an open paddock, and the winter in a gloomy, though
well heated, shed. Throughout the year they feed heartily
on green vegetables. Almost as large is the calcarated
tortoise of Abyssinia, which lives with the other giants and
on the same diet.

Of land turtles, the species common to the Eastern
States, the box turtle, is one of the most difficult to keep

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THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

in a house. It requires a chance to hibernate, and when
given such facilities will thrive for many years.

The box turtles of Africa (Cinixys belliana) are curious
in that they have the hinge on the upper shell posterior to
the middle instead of only on the plastron, as in the other
box turtles.

The gopher tortoise from Florida (Gopherus polyphemus)
takes to captivity readily, as do Agassiz’ or the desert
tortoise (Gopherus agassizii) from the Mohave Desert, the
African leopard tortoise (Testudo pardalis), and various
East Indian and South American species.

The most curious of all of the land tortoises is the soft-
shelled or Loveridge’s tortoise from Tanganyika Territory
(Testudo tornieri). ‘We secured numbers of these at
Dodoma, an arid region not unlike southern Arizona, the
country dotted here and there by rocky kopjes. These
turtles, flat and with a flexible shell, were fond of nesting
in crevices in these rocks. When we arrived we found
that the natives were ignorant of their existence, but direc-
tions that we gave for finding them resulted in a great
series. On our return we distributed these to various
parts of the United States. They did only moderately
well in captivity, due to very heavy infestation of internal
parasitic worms.

Of the purely aquatic species, the snapping turtle
(Chelydra serpentina) is the commonest. When given a
tank of water to live in and meat or fish to eat, this lives in
captivity indefinitely. Other varieties, the Florida snap-
ping turtle (Chelydra osceola) and Rossignon’s snapping
turtle (Chelydra rossignonii) from Honduras, do equally
well.

The matamata (Chelys fimbriata), the most extraordi-
narily put together and decorated of all the turtles, is very
delicate, though the New York and Philadelphia zoos have
maintained them for many years. They will lie for hours ©
motionless, and then come to the surface and elevate their
long, pointed nostrils for a breath.

[ 273 |

WILD ANIMALS

The Maw’s turtle (Dermatemys mawii), representing a
peculiar type found only in the rivers of Tehuantepec, at-
tains a large size, but is seldom seen in captivity. At
Santa Lucrezia, in Mexico, I once employed an Indian to
secure five of these for me at a price arranged beforehand.
He caught them and arrived at my lodgings with 150
pounds of turtle in a sack on his back. It was a long,
steep climb from the river to my house, and when he got
there he commenced the customary attempt to treble to
the foreigner the price agreed upon originally. For the
only time in my life in a bargaining encounter with a
native I had things entirely my way. I knew that he
would not carry them away when I told him to, so I finally
secured them at the original price, plus a mere fifty-per-
cent gratuity as a token of my high esteem.

The giant turtle of the Amazon (Podocnemis expansa),
well-known through the account by Bates, is a very large
species. It feeds in nature on water weed, and does not
last long under captive conditions. We once rescued
some from the meat market at Mandos, where they are
commonly sold, and brought them to Washington, but
they lived scarcely a year.

While seining for fishes in the small tributaries of the
Rio Beni, we secured a number of interesting turtles,
among them Platemys planiceps, a species with a shell
about six inches long, heavily ridged on top, and at the
same time of very flat form. Visitors have remarked that
it appeared to be upside down.

Another rather hideous turtle is Phrynops geoffroyana,
with a flat head and a long flat neck which it has to
twist into an S-shape and fold around the side of its
body to get under the shell. This long-necked feature is
common to several South American turtles, but more es-
pecially to Chelodina longicollis, the common Australian
species, specimens of which I have had in captivity a
year at my home, and at the Zoo for more than seven

[ 274 ]

—

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16 ALVId

THE COLD-BLOODED TRIBE

years. They have become exceedingly tame, and will eat
from the fingers.

It may indicate a peculiar taste to like turtles, but
many people are fond of them, especially in Europe, where
dealers handle species from all parts of the world. Always
on the lookout for rare and interesting members of this
family, I asked the proprietor of a small pet shop in
Rotterdam if he had any turtles. He had. There were
some cement tanks in the floor, the water in them heavily
covered with water weed and slime. He bared his arm
to his elbow and, groping about, produced several of the
interesting little Reeves turtle (Geoclemmys reevesii) from
China, some of the common spotted European pond
turtle (Emys orbicularis), and a leprous terrapin (Clemmys
leprosa) from Tunis. Six specimens from three continents
were put into a little box for me, and the price for the lot
was eighty cents.

In the zoo at Basel I heard that the local pet shop had
just secured a very large shipment of interesting turtles.
With the address written on the back of an envelope, and
stopping from time to time to show it to people on the
street who would point the general direction, I hurried to
the shop. I got there just a moment or two before closing
time. It proved to be a typical pet store, with aquaria
and birds in the window. Answering my inquiry as to
whether he had any nice turtles, the proprietor replied that
he had just received the finest shipment he had ever had.
I was all excited, thinking that here at last was a chance
to pick up some of the wonderful East Indian forms
which I had never seen alive. Advancing toward the
boxes containing the collection, I asked where they were
from. He replied, “Every one direct from Texas.”

Some of Mr. Blackburne’s reminiscences of snakes in
the National Zoological Park should be preserved. He
writes:

At one time we had in the collection a large boa con-
strictor, eighteen feet long and rather well filled out. It

[275 |

WILD ANIMALS

was a good feeder, and we noticed nothing strange in its
appearance. One morning I was surprised to see the
case in which this snake lived full of little snakes. Sixty
boa constrictors had during the night been added to the
collection. Each snake was born in a separate trans-
parent sac, and when I discovered them each snake had
broken its sac and worked itself part way through. Their
heads were pointed upwards, and their forked tongues
wiggled back and forth. When they had freed themselves
entirely they scattered in every direction, but eventually
they bunched up and lay in one corner of the case. They
measured about fifteen inches and appeared to be in good
condition.

The mother snake paid no attention to her young ones,
and it became our task to find food for them. We started
by feeding them mice, which were about the right size
for them. They all had good appetites and at times
several would go after the same mouse or small rat, and
then there would be as many as six tied up in a ball. As
they grew larger we gave them chicken heads to eat, as
well as pigeons cut up into small pieces, with a few
feathers left on each piece. These they ate without
hesitation. Later they managed to eat the body of a
whole pigeon, if the wings were cut off close to the body.
Finally we came to realize that we had more snakes than
we had room for, so they were disposed of to other zoos in
lots of ten. We retained a dozen.

Water snakes, copperheads, and rattlesnakes have been
born in the collection. Pine snakes and pythons have
laid eggs but no young were hatched.

Two of the keepers have suffered bites from venomous
snakes, one by a Florida moccasin and one by a diamond
rattlesnake. In the latter case the keeper lost a finger,
but his life was saved.

[ 276 |

CHAPTER XXII
THE MESS

THERE is really no need for visitors to feed the animals
in the Zoo. They are well provided for by a staff of
cooks and caterers, and approximately $30,000 a year is
spent in purchasing the food served to them. One man
specializes in baking special breads. Electric grinding
machines are used, and there is an efficiently conducted
butcher shop at one end of the cook house. The animals
are, in short, fed amply and carefully.

But there are other reasons why zoological parks pro-
hibit indiscriminate feeding of their tenants. Certain
animals may perhaps eat unusual things without harm to
themselves, but unless the public is very discriminating,
much damage can be done, and years of experience show
that the public is not very discriminating. In the me-
nagerie tent of one of our larger circuses there will be as
many as thirty elephants in a line, and 40,000 visitors
make a good day’s audience. That allows a thousand
visitors to one elephant. In the Zoo we sometimes have
80,000 visitors in a day, which is too great odds against
our two elephants. Then, small boys, when permitted to
throw peanuts, are sometimes fond of putting a little
English on a peanut. and hitting a monkey in the eye.
Consequently there is strict prohibition in parks against
throwing anything whatever into the cages.

All zoos have their sad history of damage to animals
occasioned by ignorant or vicious visitors. In our own
Park a visitor tossed some laurel leaves into an inclosure
where there had lived for some years six Angora goats, and

[277]

WILD ANIMALS

all of them died that evening. A beautiful Diana monkey,
for many years the only one of its kind in America, and
known and admired by a large public, was presented with
some laurel leaves by another visitor. Monkeys are very
fond of leaves, and will eat practically any kind. The
Diana went into convulsions and died in a short time.
Since then we have been unable to obtain another, and the
public is denied the privilege of seeing such a splendid
animal. A magnificent Andean condor was found dead
one morning. A post-mortem showed a ball of lead foil in
his stomach. Some one had tossed this into the cage.
Eight magpies died in one morning through being fed
too many salted peanuts. An otter, an old resident in the
Park, also died from eating peanuts, as did a cassowary.
For some reason a cassowary, who swallows his food
whole, is unable to handle a peanut.

So a visitor very casually may create havoc through
an attempt to attract an animal’s attention by feeding.
When several animals are together, feeding is done care-
fully so that each gets his proper share. One peanut
tossed into the cage when the keeper is not looking may
result in a quarrel and a fatal fight among the inmates of
the cage, and the more or less innocent donor will have
done great damage to the collection.

Certain animals, especially the bears and some of the
very hardy monkeys like the rhesus, can stand a great
deal. So while the public should trust the Zoo personnel
to feed and care for the animals, one feels like making a
compromise and paraphrasing the Italian fruit-store pro-
prietor’s request, ““If you mus’ pincha da fruit—pincha da
coconut,” to “If you must feed the animals—feed the
bears.”

The question most commonly asked in connection with
the feeding of the animals may be answered by the state-
ment that the majority of them have one meal a day.
Some—elephants, tapirs, hippos, bears, certain fruit-eat-
ing birds, monkeys, seals, and sea lions—have two meals.

[ 278 ]

———————————— Oe OO

PLATE 98

Condor from the Andes, generally considered the largest bird that flies
From a painting by Benson B. Moore

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THE: MESS

Long years of experience have shown that the big cats do
best if given one fast day a week, so Sundays they do not
get fed—a terrible thing, by the way, when Christmas
falls on Sunday.

The sea lion is one of the most expensive of all our
animals to keep, as an adult will eat about twenty pounds
of fish a day, an elephant seal a hundred. This food must
be perfectly fresh, as tainted fish would almost certainly
kill the animal. Of the birds, the pelican costs most to
keep, as he devours two pounds of the same fine quality of
fish each day.

For the two mealsof the elephant the staples are seventy-
five pounds of hay a day, eight to ten loaves of bread, and
a bucket of crushed oats. Twice a week a bucket of bran
mash containing a tablespoonful of salt is substituted for
the oats. Occasionally apples, green grass, and leaves are
added.

The hippo has three bushels of chopped-up hay for his
evening meal, and during the day a heaping bucketful of
crushed oats, dampened bran, carrots, apples, sweet
potatoes, and bread, all chopped and mixed together.

The bears receive a special bread made of two parts of
wheat flour to one part of bran, with salt. This is mixed
with yeast cakes and left over night, baked in sixteen-
pound loaves, and aged one day before feeding. Formerly
molasses was used, but this made it too soggy. The bear, .
according to its size, eats from eight to twenty pounds of
this bread daily, and in addition vegetables, fish, and an
occasional ration of horse meat. The polar bear gets
much more meat and fish, preferring the ribs and breast
cuts from a horse, so that he can eat a soft bone.

The cats, of course, eat meat. We feed them horse
meat, though some zoos use beef. The larger lions and
tigers eat from ten to sixteen pounds a day, and on
Mondays and Thursdays a pound or so of liver is added.
Leopards eat four or five pounds, and the smaller cats,
like servals and caracals, one and a half to two pounds a

[ 279 ]

WILD ANIMALS

day. Sometimes dead pigeons and chickens are fed them.
It is curious that duck meat is not popular with the cat
family. Younger cats receive cod-liver oil with their meat.

Ruminants in general eat hay and grain in quantities
according to the size and condition of the animal. We
have found crushed oats preferable for most of them,
though the goat family seems to like whole oats best.

The monkeys receive a varied diet. They are fed
twice daily, and each meal differs from the last. In
general they prefer raw to cooked food.

MONKEY MENU
HORS D’OEUVRE
Green grass Fresh leaves Cod-liver oil
CEREAL
Boiled rice
ENTREES
Meal worms
Eggs—raw and boiled
ROAST
Horse meat, small portions

VEGETABLES
Sweet potatoes, baked, boiled, and raw
Carrots Onions, boiled and raw Sugar beets

Irish potatoes, boiled and baked
Cabbage, boiled and raw

BREAD
Bran White Raisin

SALAD
Lettuce Kale

DESSERT

Rice custard Baked custard
Oranges Apples Bananas
Other fruits in season

BEVERAGE
Milk
Nuts Raisins Whole wheat Sunflower seeds

[ 280 |

Jan] Suva wolf perp yoryr sjvos viosuy Jo pisy dy,

66 ALV Id

PLATE 100

Two bottle-fed babies: Sarah, the olive baboon, and a duiker

THE MESS

In the zoo at Mexico City monkeys also receive cafe con
leche (coffee with milk) at four in the afternoon, like any
human. A diet as above, eked out by contributions from
the public of peanuts, chewing gum, safety-razor blades,
matches, and an occasional hat, handkerchief, or glove
grabbed by the monkey keeps him in good condition as
well as spirits.

All supplies for the National Zoo are purchased through
competitive bids. ' The lowest price for first-class produce
is accepted. Seconds are permitted in many cases; that
is, potatoes may be smaller than usual, a fish may have
nicks in it, but everything must be absolutely fresh.

The following is an average year’s purchase (1928):

Florse 1meat)) epee yacits eis ee a 130,331 pounds
LC) eae eG a 40,895 “
Bread) 6 0 ae ee eee os Silos oe S758!
Dg nea: 2S eS. 2) Bain ene
BRIAN AS oe. AO ID cle eset ese a's ye b Doe 135800! yn
USPHS i Ba cea eteh ino «Wie a Seg Pa eNetis tyes BFR Fy
SIWECEIPOLALOES <tc os ena ae afl sac asia POP Cnt
WYTILEE: PORACOES oc Sct pas arsiein aint te eae s ia TT.OA0 gis
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sO) AS Sates a erie eA a A Baas ea,
@atanisign sttys Liny. SP PAA Ras a eae e hate F635)
Cabbage iets 2) S58: obabbein am saci ssl. wes Gea (orna amad

| Por Ri re eeeRe rt ty = 8 SRR he Sg 2065) 1 5s
Bags oo Se els cl ease GI Wee as i8 585 dozen
Oranges... egeeee een eee gate eae (ca
Bettuces Sok ater poe ee neg eee 105 heads
Spitidely ig A450, at eee Gee 20 pounds
Straw berries i 1AA se Ae teha wie 2 boxes
Dates: 3222. oo eee ae nee I pound
FDNY oo: so systega ss SOME 8 oc! 225 pounds
| Diese eepC RED ane Ory” ety sete aR I pound
Grapes |S te oj csldba iaate aa hee rele aab a ans & 1 basket
Silpatt 2 ic).7. tare Comer Clabin Solin s sists 700 pounds
DV ee a tink tits Ba teaegs Meas Ritee ears Dae 83 cases
able isatt.c2 8... 20 ab ae apes whines ald, oe 1,200 pounds
RCI SALES ass ches. citiePanee fates ala cies 3) <i Gites osetia
Bigur wheats cnt se Chee eee tees 184 barrels
Blourypralams. 2. Gure ve sete eee nat aaa

WILD ANIMALS

BGG 33.3 nies oie: ste ULE ORR Nae Sete ore 2,100 pounds
Dried shrimp 03:2 225 ane se et TOOT it 5:
PRAD DIES AI cis 'o, cone es: 17
PRRBONS ete che aun « co ssiie bate a ue ne te eee ee Zoe
Hay, timothy and grass mixed............ 354,098) |<
Hay; clover x3 fe rgely Pe VL aig ston 10/940: ir
LB TaeN GURV A Ne EyvareE veer SG Ur Me Ae iy Ra Pe 92,000 =
Whteabisenaw 51) 4 erckoae omen aes eek es 25006 ia
Feedinenmbeat st wisest he a, b.6008 1."
Yellow cracked corn........ Sc a La CL SaN 29,500". 1
Wellow' shelled torms tt. uae can 212 Basal Mo
Whholeoatet rn Wesley pitts ea ald pie Bc OOO!) +a
Crushed age eit Phe eee. Wi hil uta eee 1AO;280iy1
Mellow corimeal. sc oadick doers se oe ee BOO)! treks
ayingrimaienis She ecu cs ier ds Cala sie Ritne ROO
Chick mash ete Sit to. i arte Or ean G25 ver:
Ghiicko teeny yi) ieee teu o ues See cae eee Lo pe te ap
iysterrouelis sec olis cusses als wats ocean eg ne 400.) i
Alfalfaymeall c's cues ihccus 4. 15s EE Troon
Moeatimeal ii. said cnc ak so. 400}
GCamanyisceaie nse ee ESOOn Ara
Hee Cicer snake tail oa ued banca cen tae FOO
| a ee ES aC HN vic 6 REN ii
SUMMOWErISEEdch. Lagoa Wins eee RS OICOMe ye
Hemp seeds ieee er ete tet 2 aie lee BOO ay
scratch (mixed seeds): 03/20. 5522. cau Da00) Ss
Mockinpiird foods cay ieaisutscs «cio stop BAO tan

In addition to the above, last year there were produced
in the Zoo the following:

200 white mice 256 dozen eggs

300 white rats 1,900 pounds kale
33 young chickens 1,200). .'*¢))) lettuce
130 pigeons 2,000). 88) iraipe
30 hens and ducks 4,000 © beets

113 rabbits

More than 25 tons of grass; also brush and bamboo for sloths,
beavers, and other animals.

We raise things only when it has been shown by experi-
ence to be cheaper to doso than to buy in the open market.
Probably the most varied diet of all is found among the
birds. Here the meat and fish eaters and the seed eaters

[ 282 ]

THE MESS

are fed once a day, but the others twice. The menu con-
sists of mockingbird food (a commercial preparation of
which boiled and ground meat forms a considerable part),
meal worms, hard-boiled eggs, cooked rice, vegetables,
and fruit. Even Hamburg steak is not unknown in the
menu, for meat balls, composed sometimes of meat and
vegetables, are made daily, to be tossed into the air and
grabbed and eaten by such birds as the East Indian and
African hornbills. Of seeds, sunflower, canary, hemp,
millet, and rape are most generally used.

To keep the quarters of the animals in good condition
requires, during the year:

SSE [CUESTA Ms er fiaen AS SAI AL ERC A st POP 2,100 bushels
ES GOOAGE cfs eset chemin ein anon Seria te digyeloid weed Ss 22 dozen
Mliopseaiisienas<sletnianuatstns ose uiaretetals eather allt SO ie
Scerabtclothis: Seem mete NaC cic taia ale ea)e, a
DOLUD! DISHES | Marea ea Aleiera cise. aie! S nycn eats Si ihies

NS (Os PRP of URINE 8 da TY ON PD 750 pounds
Bnsect powder skies. yee wees Lie aie ella, 40

The work of a keeper is largely routine, relieved, of
course, by unusual events that occur almost every day.
He shows up in the morning long before the public is ad-
mitted, and by the time the doors of the buildings are
thrown open to visitors the buildings have been swept
and scrubbed. Freshening up the cages occupies most
of the morning.

Then each keeper goes to the cook house, draws rations
for the animals under his care, and prepares the meals.
Feeding is done usually after lunch, and the rest of the day
is spent again in cleaning. Continual scrubbing is the
price of an attractive zoo. The work is hard.

A keeper must be quiet in his manner, patient with his
animals, and must know enough about them to care
properly for them as well as to answer the questions
hurled at him by visitors. These are numerous and of
infinite variety. I trust that some of them have been
answered in the preceding pages.

[ 283 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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De car cee ee ee Otte Ne (Aqzy[eM yor payiey-ysnig) vyeyporuad ajedon2q

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duoodd ALIAAONOT

| AE NCETM OCI. Ont lacs hCkC ECOROECIEC IO 8 Set CC Tater ROE ME rer AP (nofeyxury UBIIXITA]) $nd9}ze snavy

| (nofeyury) snavy soj0g
| sini alis) Tal wi ertsae mos Sarath cihnvemeize, Os\veratace role ateneh nr anael et eltan ovalts Ou enela 6s (epurg) suas[ny sninqiy
Wie 6).0) fs ore she td a. el eed fo te 6 Wiese 8h? elidicae ot eel Giese el 6 Léele eevee (1v9q yi0[S) snulsin snsimype yl
Waikeival ennyieetsL dela lape'ea) 3,3 a crskphal © =a) onstewelnkd teldis taleiete a . (1e3q uns) snuvAvyeur $0}DIB [IF]
| aie) 0) ee we bite, cel eee! se. ayo: laisalnw).e-‘ecalale) wena a Pe rabire (4evaq uvfvyeuTzy) snurjaqiy3 SOJDIVUITIS
| ata, anatereeel de cier ashe recohetics aisicers cna wire ncetah ¢ ete * (avaq yeIpoy) Wsopuspprur
SCE itn SRM CeO ARO er eran C-C (avaq uMolq prqApy) $0}018 x LOppry
| Ree SABC SECS Sea TIC ORY RT AI Sel SI Dei SR MgO OTC I * (4vaq S Joppry) apply
| aie ae) ala ania liva Baty Sete (nak s) a veeutmcecls (eu iauela-aaevede teveastasusliete (avaq asouede [) snouodef
CEPR EPC a ROM se er a eC Cm aeRO TTT Coty COTE ee . (avaq Azz115)) SI[Iqisoy
**gayjow Aq ua3va ‘yIeg Ul UIOg *(1¥v9q uvysely pliqAp{) yep « sed
ial axicherisiidis) @i.6 0 hers anuuicl'@ les) 4 -0.e, 0wsduee el wa ¥ (4e9q uMosqg v[nsuluag BYSeTy) svks
listen cheeks Cuoseadel oly NeLenoue. > seuss Te etercnelens Selisvese islet wtcrereiw (1vaq epl4Ioyq) snuepliog
| Renter Oma e Sue ciate e\.e. syle ce, la 6. b tee: iis) re cert wee llb ww ene aval *(4vaq JaIoeID) IIsuouwluw
| suena oieh aielapalrenvacher ts <a) emamer ens /LansOeteeea ielccel aMwuaaieimibe te Caanan erate’ . (av0q yenye X) Wyep
| Se ae oe eae Las ae eh) foLte p ade ld Raab Lele at SIS oO ROT eC hae * (4v9q uMOIq uvodoimny) $0}018
| eee Re retarsa uel amaciey cue ca) aera cl aha calacacie necro aia cane are eR en ten eae (Ayzz143 ayordy) ayorde snsip)
Pate) Gal ate EL aC CU Teme or aCe BCR erat ROME ca (avaq 4oeTg) Josiusod snuvoliowe
ea ot Me ae a *(te9q UOWeUUID) UNWOUWeUUID snuZoTIOUe
mee seyret peers bss cee vie (a80q BUOZIIY) sdooA]quie snuvolowe
| ere ete) Sie else's \e- 6 everett eee ee she te, ate tenere . (1v9aq yoryq UvOLIDUTY) snuvoLiowe sojoJeNy
ache a seco eS ee Se Oe) Ble 6 8.016 bv eke- ae aeLde ie ee (ie e|.6 (1v9q Ivjog) SnUII} ew sojdiepey y,
VUOAINUVO

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[ 286 |

APPENDIX I

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quoord ALIADONOT

Waa vebes e) eMelenay awa: trel aie valve AEe Oder eres epee cle, can erceeds ( 3330 UvOLIDUTY) sisuopeued eINT
eh uienetelis) ener ay eiserienie fe Wuerigvartehoiaaenemeire ORC Oy Oar, CAT CWONCe TICE Da ORC ES (UITAT) UOSIA

GRE eae! a lote ce le ieivelie (a hel lere).e ta 6 (0:16) & One. 8 eerie ei 68, ce: eo) eaters *(JoSea AA) SIsuddvIOGaAOU

eee re sec ee Shekel eta oes exe eliei se Aeiieile teuakieitacenapeyse (o4I94 P2}00j-39e |g) sodiistu

plaice iehaYie (eek ie:'e, 0 =) ei e/ieahe ©) elleneiigwi'e Gist a's Sas pannus nace eitacat ete (o4I94 uoUuwO7) orny BIaISNyA
Preliahaverevevane! sie, s ay Sehelisereliaiie: acinus Ite ‘eteulsxctione me; Riga ef ie) Sree wee (49ystJ7) uvuuod

Sie a, eres wesc Rea teNa ocaneta eens shel etal etcrelitusnsvettoate a emereners (uajie yy) BUvITIOWE SoJIV A]
staparienas clever eee [oval eueleketolene: wteleke gheclisvewerehsietel tanto yensceishersisiteha sar (erhe Ty) vreqieg eihUy,
eed, o12 ey Manel, ST byiah es Ora selral.siiat ene sb ope ee) Wiel tenetens (sie eau enupane ies celap bua (uostIn) BVA UOSLID)
speviewanatinwarer sie mush al leensnciieie cea hielremp i e\ca) esaitelkeve teiralaLichetietiane ial olalerej ara (aUIIaATO AA) snosnj o[ns)
Sakae Wh ruhiat «Mallen s: omelie: @u6,/@ (eles (enters terrane |e Llarrene, wun vate re necis (yunys pejods) suosult

SSC Oo eC OU EECCA, MOR GPO OSC eet (yunys pa3jods ePHO]q) sIfVAIequie ayesojids
Beh ch awe love) cheba cece: aces a boels sel iehemncsre ethene revehel brag ie: Wb TeCene re mere tamWene (yyunys) BISIU

ACSC AACE schCUCMOSCAC ECL CePRONTL LP OME CRE Cet reco 0 (qunys eplop,q) vjesuoyja stiyydayy
aes mahe(eiahere’ s) cpiehn usp emstioireue jets hetic-el (ile: (sesleman sh dcterehis: Seika (s98peq uvodoinq) sajoul
SisierleliceNeMeie) wo lerta! ieeie. erie, 0)'0) qe" Suis) lejie) @ 9) 01ce)\m im eisj 8 lsimlviale (4adpeq asouvde [) eumnyrue SopPN
Sibylenete elie: e"eljale)~.eceisiiele © .s,qieraie ike ne o) as .stels ene (195peq UvIIDUITY) BUBIIIOUIe BOPIXe |,
De emenst etelal Gus) erelie in Wieueyieitelel,oce tareeteylenene ceisler eipieys (uooovs Bplop.q) snonya 1030]

wiisnatel screens sire Silat odiejeiicusivcist si ealias'sllaule ne) oft be’! /oiful iatetoMar's cwapalteseincesials (uooseyy) 100]

aWalcs Un ear eterales salto wee! WealieliN bo rensniate ve ‘wis vamere (uoooes Suijvo-qviz) SNIOATIDUD uofd01g
Mdgeton(eh awere Nat ois re csika ratios Mebienelvitas ane” cueie CkaMaee Maambiieleraecege (tpunwi-13%09 py) vynd

OSS. ete) CD RCMOADSO. CRUEL Deed) 3) eit OatMtteth Oi iate tec One tse Oe (Ipunul-19%09 AvIn) vou pense Ny
Rey ss eetetete Sot (QB J9AID UBITOUTY JO a[}SIWIODe>D) SN}NJsSe SNdSIIvsseg

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[ 287 ]

WILD ANIMALS

9 roa Bietstpencits ers (ere te (eee ns) hiss) (ete nristia) @) @yekee me we Sialarenses, (xoJ uvadoinq) sodjna 4
- (SY o tere HOSEN ROR, CuO TS Seka Cag Staats ae sar oP 2 Oa GEO (xoj Wy Jo JIMS) XO[9A QT
t PCGnCr ce tity QC ined Oe ceratie rc) st) aby wieieenieay blots) Snape (xoj IMs porvo-du0'T) SIJOIOVU Zz
Ol Tey biel a Kepiwi alte tel elie) «lel ei iwypen(e. Je 16 62): (@h@ Uei.e: /6arce. seed) wikey le a aRi6) 1s mee (KOT p2y) BAN CL
8x Be OO COU Da cr Olt DIO NESE DITO, Oh DiO ORG CMe. ch swederatellesexents (xoj yoeq-s94]IS) vuleyo sodin,, zt
6 marae etictaialia tel ecatiedel sas wet-olv ated eh eb Felli ie ols. si sisen moat aie (xoJ uvyjoseyAy) snolueyjoseur uoAs0pia9 I
L (op Asi strvd aiken aicaries hel sigeure Leite ceca leiraiiexsex(eyt apfeihalieics) 8) Lauleneicelvelierel'e\sire "++ (Jom por SYX9T) snjni I
L i PMO CO BOLO sOe Col De Ce Oat ECR DEC a ei sists 6 . (230409 BIUIOJITe) sndo1ys0 I
9 gi Sis carat UCL ORD iene ENCINO: ECORI aL ER CoOMONT Ta Re IONE Ci ik a OMI Iei ee cee *(JJOmM Avis) snjiqnu 96
(Oy ie |S 2s |r OI STOR OS cea yO COEUR GST Je a ot os (230409 suleyg) sisusoRiqou I
L Ue | Mee iad oy ag a (yeyoul pexoeqg-yoefq UBILIYy 3seq) TUBT{IWIOUT Se;IUTOSOUUT 8
§ ve SEO TRO Guru eocs Coe Ot, ChCHCRCEL a AOR CM et ECE OY Metin (jeyoel poyoeq-x9eTq) svawosou I
OL ue Ruatiapetier Gein Wel ai coh clndelapiaiiskt. ettn’ aio) ahiui 0M b) asiorsaiie] (oh'e)fercercet e\ce\sMels/leqe- ere (230407)) snjni SUBI}E] G aa
OL Sy tied. Cd Chorin ich ee eon. Dat Oe ROR OMI MOOR Chace aly aces (JJO“A atieid IO 930407)) SUBI}E] QS oo
+ 7) oe |e Deere CRBC cat nc ee acacia acer CCC ata (210409 §,asnoypoo A) soxsny 6 Mos
I L evitsibatinietiswer site shmialke)\6) 'stielle) s) 7entei<oMelalicise! (s)(s- ante s¥)eciauidlslleytosis . (JJOmM usoy}nos) snuepliog z
§ g DEEN aces ee OR EOE E CCC eT OLLI ME ier Oi bene *(spaeiq SNOLIY A ) slIBIpIUey (Ae
8 + SCH Ce Pane Dera eCDeOkcre es ay Ca ier pera Ci CIRO rats (punoy-jjom uvissnyy) slrelpiuey at
6 6 Sees (At o Dupe OAD Leow Ce One hice ORIOL) LC IORDEARS Fay i OL Ostk ac ya (Sop OWT¥Sq) SIBIpIWIEy tg
6 at Oc) OO Ola. O Oltiion O.Gati ce ORD -OnCeGNOnOLUeO a jek ab eel e ce wuawlene hs: ef (eier eMule cs cee e ene (o3uiq) o3urp sues) 19
I Ls aUSirs| eke): size) eel wha ieL we, (Ae Ey DeORO RO MOO ORO Cac Ose tir Gnd . * (xoy ysnoyq) snoy} uoAd0ul01e7) 9
+ Be Riise onsale Spear ad ea CsI SHN Re ceDOe sylste, \aiiene te atmerenviiel.¢“ehrtiiay ist ajie cilewas sine valle (J238 yy) stsuadvo RIOATTIIA I
II Cy Rite NeLetaor ehiee oo nweeriel (wileter eis erih ve] (lei fe,fevsePlonielus) ie, eis ae (49330 BPlIOp J) eSRA sIsuapeued cael | 6
panuluoj—VUuoAaiINuvo
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APPENDIX I

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qauoodd ALIAPTONOT

ee ee enn “+ +++5+(ggo0Suoul 1938 A\) Sudds9qn4 snsouipnted

Sie ’soiivirs ws) eile eee (ote) ewe inslenientaiel els) 10: 16ixsiks) e149 ts (esoosuoul uendAsy) uowmnauypot

SUbceilsiaKoiiel ecehialsiener(ehn!\eileliehieiner(s ie \aceienioniagetieneas selene (2soosuou uvipuy) snasiia

sees aievjusiyie Se) lejneinsiielenisine. ie) waits te mie (2s003uour yoriq) TUUBWIapL] sipiovi3

Be gd ee en ry es eee "*(aso0S3uour snosd¥1YIQO) SIIJUSATARY soysadsapzy
(3¥0-1¥8q Jo Suoimjuig) Suoimjurg si¥901y
QJ2aa1d wyeg) snjrporydeursay

(39419 wyed pepueg) snjeiosyy sninxopeieg
(j9u93 uvdyy 3seq) voITayens
EHolviicreMehonerelle eee alieiisy(oriells leiels Hetiemer(cmomcdceamcnetemestansaets (qou03 UOUTUIOZ)) ¥}}0uU03

(jaua3 Ss uUvIUNAN)) TUURUINOU vULTOSUOPp e}]9UAEH
pleiieflalauracduautitatedek su smeranonans acs eneneasie etaap erate tere tanya anit *(3aAr9 uvipuy) ByIOqIZ

(J9A1D UBIIIJY) BIJIAID BIIDATA
Othe )e Reinet ia: eYiaitee oinel-\n-o)renel sii; 0) {e; (6) ey siKe:1e,"s) isi (ei ie! lei situiradelleisisuiall se <0) allaknt (a oe (99uu2,7) Bp19OZ snoauua yy
(Sop ysng) snoieuaa uoAdI}9T
(JOM-psey) SNjeISIID sapajo1g
page eer ee (as peyods uvdiuyy 3seq) suvurued vynd019

Cho ota: pestoresg tea OL, eee Gro dt bo eaejlenh) eis cel eretelele te *(euody pa330dg) 23nd019 vINIOID
(euady poding) eeuys

(vuaky UMOIg) vouUNIg vudeAFT
(xOJ paiva-Suo'q) siojedaut uoAd0}99
(xoy Avag)) snojuas1vossauId uoAD0I)
Ch Cridet). OF Sf CL OL Oh Cet eC te Omel Cer Os OUP GLUE Oech ipaptOsreris? ee Crna siiuser (xoj on01y) sndosr] xadoly

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qduoodd ALIAFONOT

al sons) at erremevlokiv. ne selieste vw © jevieriw, lee © <n) ie 16) 6l.e:erOh ie Vere le! -e: boielue 0 S¥6 calion 6, ‘aXe (ye9 Avsieyn) euLis3

Brea ee tere Lowen cHen eae sy anelan stelle tac@e eee rsnac eerie. emexates Smeteiina Giehes ereyie ier siner erase ({eA1aS) [eAsas

SF wie hearted oka WiacreiewataNerarete te Bere aate ra alte (predooy uBoLYy 3svq) snoipayens snpied

Gi ohessce: orssieve else! eleXe(e(0 6) s)id slurs speteroiiaw ein iv) mUeexacekareneneApmslicre; 00's (paedoaq) snpied

BM elelaiverenstenen cuareCe on ceasnvcer ene LeneGtierklensee aie (0,290 uviyizerg) sisuatyisesq stjepied

anal iss orailenene sie) ioctelies ete esamelieteyiepe tive [ollie ebiette (eh ae) le)(eylel seaman trai ninncm ama) (eile (30]990) sijepred

axle hele allen Tet ereret siiatere a) (010) er eee ellpuelle,.0e) ey 0) @leiersL aye (heseins) 0a de cere *(sende f) BOUO

milcnsislelezstistion scieieieds ar ct nutinencu susie susaehelnitelel elsueiulalieite) ewe ttactese (av9 uveyd3q) 89190

Senate tieiceritivaire wercsiicilim skeliatoiccueriel einen «) cusses) euehishanoetel cisishets (paedooy pepnoy)) esojnqou

Shams orate Ascek enna nara qaNonete sales st anvisceleneh tes cemeneiie scaceccuparaaae (ae9 p2yqieyy) PIvIOUILUI

CRORE OSE eo ORCI GEC ETHOS NCSC IO ORO Let TC HCP ECHO EOC) Ost Og MONON d CLONO NIECE SOY (0) a 8 02]

Rue Sencueb ene ehe aoe L One Rina een ceri eatin el oHee EDI er ele nec rorenatene (uory ure}UNOyA) saysajoddry
BOLIC In PReTT ECON CRESS UR? Car Se SE SD RIS DA Be MCR ir ee A aT CIE MC POMC (AvSivyy) vpnoneysd
SRatucestaceteuneeh cant sittie ney sears taUuNe) Wisiial arora There ce dais rie oe SNe S22 Bx Sree Avr) viho

SLAF OG Gad SO EOL AD Ga OED OO wer ence eoariee (3¥9-19319 Avi) xlyosAryo
STE Eee ECR Tet OAT Pe RRC Ta Ie ae OX MOM Ter at it (xud] uviuissXqy) eoiqnu yeovigs

SSO nts er oe EED Cahn PTTL eee Ae RR ONC ([easas uvILIYy seq) ropury sisuodeo
Roececee neh PmrMer conse cements omerct caer vus.cieum at saree okcae knee eenatons (eund UBIIXI]) ¥I9IZE SI[IT
Ailes eater elie molester ielish teri eTacs) oe.) erase else Wyo eis ieice eee c eres (yeI20YD) snjeqnf xAuoulpy
Rae MaGeeenih emake sie rien eMemenicneuwassa)- sjrertucenerie: 6 (asooduour pepurg) snuojoo osunur

ciate nm iwreuawtar swe tremi\(orate Mecaaa genes ler sha Waa uF ane. “skertelsuneetovedeuta stasis (asoosu0py) oSunur sosunyy
epacatiecialislforismel sige Sera tek steeiwa te) sce) ie' eweilera /eridetel snes (esooduow Jasso'T) ejeynpun

sib ue ate ieaalece gues aelerprianenee sia iva Suny! ie klesiieLlante (esoosuow $s B19q [Ye MA) epnased ayesojayy
panuiUuoy—VUoOAINu Vo

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SNAWIOddS

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[ 290 ]

APPENDIX I

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EE NCR Oe ** (Twos JoqIeYy OUTIUOIAy) URS) SIsUaWTUOINS IIpIeYyo

CRON RIC CRCNC RCC CR ICRC RCC CRC toate Cat (eas psedos’q) lpseyou ewo0ud
[src Werxexeloneusbeytren= 1orenetene <eneneveroiieseseMar-eee® . (uoly Bas BIUIO;ITeD) SnUvIUIO;ITeD snydo[eZ

DC CLEOO NO Sisters ivi jeiele. spies avs uRamaebaRee te HO Tasers THIjOIG) ejeqnf seidojoun gy

VIGAIdINNId

al here alishevereyetereen eres cls Si¢ apie ares ak ee tee te a(ED PILa UaOOTONT) vjuIn
elavierteleioneher'slsi le Carte eehes nieisle Sone soe eee (UAT PoOqIOUR) SISUOX9} snjnd
ay eile) elevta tee)o le 6: ole) se lenelie) Wlessfel-slw belo 7alerutelatensifere (xu& eplo snue 110 sninJd
speueree Cnstiaiune ta\iavatalehalevanele leis iavealra’e) snes) ereMe ean malrents cue eo Ee and
couse ewe Clisiimcenwie eiielalielaiiey elleieehe)lel*eliesrs:« * (xuA] BIUIOJI[eD) SndUJOFI[eD snjni
PioreplarisMelcatetieiian sieaiin te/facapatal slsteclallocancsiac te isicel oj enol ohonenemeteten ep emeniaapecs . xu ke snini
psal altura: wai ei- enw celeleWafleiipliotei.pcepavelie bi-ollsitnne, eteus ol qteuelsestatenein (xuA] ae Neus
shal la-(el’s)(eqeWeve’ shelielo\ia\ion sYacere/verai «<a tele =)<i'e * (Teoereo UvILYY sv) snoiqnu [eovies
eis: enevels Sc ih 9.2 hee elle S20 07ay fw sels ea ceeeranoean Aa) [eovses
eee DMO ACES CC) GLU PhO.) O, Cho ciao, ccc Oar Ooo Og oeo A (xuA] uprurs) sisuopeurd
eg. aOPOLe OO TO 0 OO OROro CO cad) Geo Gao Cea tcp tian a oe eco (xuA] s Aatieg) rhaTI1eq xuhJ]
Freee CRC ROL aCe Ie CCR OR EES Teer at fe ech ek BOM RC At eeser rier (3x9 ot J) sdasturyd uLIn{iy
SB Ou cick tao oto Gatto becac ond) Obed csosaateoio pen-o ase c) (avo Ipunsense x ) ipunosenosed
Ro ntaclene are e Sia ARE ws Sco) lara-Ta.ca a velare alana seh ee a Leet ietiece:sihetinenchs-sne (ae Surystq) BVULIIOAIA
aL aval elerale ulcer mteneiatses .saueiatare wi wislaNey eons ip SwLenase Esa ere lb eaves T * (predooy mous) vioun
nerayraiis)iain\ (wine) (elislini ee aielie\ie/'sahiel eels) enue ov eliehene Meatpeate * (2981 uvlJaqis) sipidiSuoy s1z3n
BLcivoloustaatinnienreliotielsraveitota (oltsiariete total ola ual eliekeriey wince tallatinc Salve ena ckaraniie (19313 [edusg) sg SI]2J

panutju0y—VAOAINUVO

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SNAWIOIdS

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[ 291 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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SHLNOW

me [freee enenie) cits pete enciraene.ief env lshypsiiaitermielie ran. i (jesowseur AxyIS) snysoef XITUINTTeD
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Seaeta tele .ie. eels tite a ete A ee eter eet ronal aita a ara eee (ulmeue3 paz pue 4oryq) si]joorss1u seply]
Th) al) CA CMeO Pa Ato cnoleraod teen ora Cnet ita (qasoulseur ayourg) sndip20
Bieta teWie le ol otfalie rin} skalini (pie) a\letiehieieleve) 6.lews)e io Téi ave 6: evietewa ele jane Oh OMFO ORC ‘Aoryoos seprwodipag
SMe Warise Me ace byscnscate teh nee bedeMoc tr epel maces nifeterot Kener ena (Aayuour nn Avig) yos13 snqso]e7
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shawobeusiarersaneenerapsrememenaaeaane Re te Narepapel es sxalnmeneneuatean mats (anWI2] Jeqizuev7) WJouIed oseyey
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ahspuva<ailevgeyie le ins in aperaetete aie coy ele, sai a0, ae ela (Teas yueydoyq) slijso1igsndue edunonyyy
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SuVvar STIVANVIN

qduoogd ALIAFONOT

wOoadinte NO KR TAH eH AAR MHA
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SNAWIOdadS

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[ 292 |

APPENDIX I

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SSC ate teen nea earn ea Me at ean ait ia sas me PC ace Che (e31807)) suaosasii3

imate Meteo Gns-cho 6 Ono wet onto obese Peo (Aayuour Jopids Avin) thoryoas

Sila doliayeasltev ow oiielals nemenarei’on ohelist eualislionys ot Oiet ers pateierelereks (Aayuour sapids 4ozI1q) Rent S223 Y
a) 0) e) e)'e, lone) 's) efieris is) ©. \oliw ota} 'ei'e} shia)-o0)le)ieelel ania eel apts, (ar ef ars fe)isia (Aayuour QI) snoinios

ai fayie dim dalie. foie) ecletenta (eviews: serrenroliavialteLwrenie tat eienerel eb eieters (Aayuour 00 euieurd) IIpa3s10 LITWIeS
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Rr eae er ea gg a eee (ld4eyeno pepeay-yoeIg) snjeydasourjour ov feoe5
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93 |

WILD ANIMALS

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Pete our oe ee ae ere (Aayuour ATJoom sypjoqunyy) Vproquiny x1wyI03e7]
eae rec eet ng Oe ee (Aayuow sapids paovj-pay) snostued sapary

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quoord ALIAFZONOT

SNAWIOdGdS

10 YWaH#WON

[ 294 ]

APPENDIX! 1

[ 295 ]

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+ or TA Care RP OSCSC STI SCR art Ear eee ee aCe Pmt Ow ha (onbeoeur IOOJA]) sninvu snoay3idoudsy £
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9 Bx earn tnes Gi cee ng Sofa et eee een eee (enbeoeur Areqieqg) snuvalAs BIWIS i
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ol {Seed c Secearaoes ana neae ee (an3ur] peovj-ajdind aayeSury) snsojdoyeydas xuyedhg Li

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quoodd ALIAZONOT 10 YtaWnNn

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STIVINAVIN SNAWIOIdS
10 YWdqaqNaANn

APPENDIX I

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10 YWIGqWnAN

[ 297 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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Eineerst sGerhie Ween csBvoni ous . (asnour yoreq Ppepesy-931y AA) snjeydasoone]
Pua rakelipaeneneteomeralaeu ibis isn eparalia tase selene Pevaoscac (asnouw 34989) sno1wiata
abietle letisite ce Marre: [sarteiele vivo suerte! a) eieriins)) ©) a fareliane . (esnow d1}ISeIeg) SnoTUsofITes

SAN eps sas tecenkceatnee te erate ae ‘(asnout asap s,AayMoy) tAaqMos r1JAoq snosAuoIag

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me sigan Bin Genesis, ¢ ‘(asnout saddoysseisy) sXsydourjaur 193sedoon2]

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SE DS ees aep e ye Nene esol see eas ee eer anie = (JowseU Aysnq) BIndsqo SIIQUDATARH BJOWIL I
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panuyuoj—VILNadou

STIVANVIN

Mon tHH HHO HTAANAtTAAAAAAYN
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SNAUWIOddS

iO YAGNnNn

[ 298 J

APPENDIX I

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8 Ph eLialiel’ntim te er stoi enennoaliphelislcecae', vie) emt sien etertverusena (ava oosesuvy) sijiqeqoods +
9 SLol etn felichen siasetsitsie Monat eos e-eace! olateinc nk sl-acaletelet atolls (aer ooreduey S$. PJO) IIpso a
v S| Sa a a ae (v1 ooresuvy SwelssayAl) twretsseu sXwopodiq £
SEemavictier wastes see ote tm eicn Veceie uae smawensine® ciachalisicedl sr Ries (asnowlop uBoLIy seq) *ds sniniydeiny I
waren Mores vole nesialjoleiieriemotis iota fi aristniialietiouaikee slistiemsuccietsueiens (s9ydo3 39490qg) snizesing sAuwi0a4) $
9 jr tea | eae Me comes Mee Tieniat olan s Lemaniot-niven= enwn Mane ls cebin ia unis ape omeelarihe reese aes (aerysnyA]) BoIyyaqIz eiZepuc or
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Guooaud ALIAFONOT 10 UTANWAN

SSS SSS ee ee an re eS tlie men pe) Sa ae Cele] Rnd Bees

[ 299 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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ed ae eae fc ive Mars Houipe bk eniewleiep a recite maaan ie Nels (,aiqqes yorl, P2]!e3-331Y AA) sysodues

Sapa Seeger easter ee yivq ul pajyesaqry = *(a1ey Burke A) snuvotsawe snday

VHduONOoovVT

aliedek sVishiatehersiwikitr: atectitocpactelios..echce™eliriiaueteterta la (ereqddey) sniaoysoipAy snsa0ys0IpAFy
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SEAS CORRE aos PaaS a (3rd eouin3 ueIANI3g) sotpiyed lpnyps}

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aiyaaitemat apie! canis alse ys e)ealatieis aerate; dese) ins’): & nose oaduima-Aste e do ouwdid
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IDOE BD OS CII OS EC OG (Qnose padwni-mojax) svuueded sayiony
Casivssor Rose Sines Pere ess ott ti Ose EA OO) Bsoulsiyny
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isle eve. shame lee. siete) aieialel sw alee Giexetete twee sexevauelotecn (nose $ e182) QvIVZE

CEC Rr ONCNONCECE OCeCan a) sraleneisyecelia SG eereltale inleceKs,eNbre oo. (ynoZe wou’) nde vo01dAseq

panuijuoyj—VILNddouw

SIVANVIN

TRO MR RF YMA A HEM ~oOoO

SNAWIOddS

iO UIGNON

[ 300 ]

APPENDIX I

I I Ty Wat We, a Neto. Aiea GaWiny oS) Talim alielp (el .a0 ea) a: ae ple.) 6) etyeis/ bra Ceca ce, sy) ah eae: (v4sqaz ulejunoyAy) BIgoz
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VIALOVAOSSIUAd
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Vadlosogoud
(S MMO VeManese eh ¥ leriekeh airs: ois) leita) ce vamel’e) cerioite dawnyevycel-evier tet wi aitsue celntlenicite (xerAy ede>) stsuad¢o
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VAGIOOVUAH
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qauoogd ALIAATONOT

Se CHO AMO AMA YA

met

SNAWIOUdS

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[ 301 |

WILD ANIMALS

ore hE AO co

wm wt OO OYE Eric SO ent

SHLNOW
qauoodd ALIAAONOT

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QI ae elie Were (Use ke! altel isiieliet iar iS ovate e's lee! elu) eer e's (ee kT 6) im la! ene 6 (A? uvdLIIWIY) sisuapeuro snAla7)
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VIALOVAGOILUV
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ta een ar woe Cals ES ta OO DH

SNAWIOddS
10 YAdWnNn

[ 302 ]

APPENDIX I

ciSehe kere e Kecelra mies (6 1 16 eee) of es etlele! ean eis) \estemnie® s) a eulellsien ee iets (yoqseTq) SUuOJJIq{e Snosijeweqd
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[ 303 |

WILD ANIMALS

SHLNOW

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[ 304 ]

SNAWDddS

40 YadqWOoNn

APPENDIX I

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WILD ANIMALS

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9 aay folie) (utero rele Oral ei nilst/bl wife) Tars/ie)ian(s) evieta) si elinitere tans tsl toy etele (oj[Ipewsy) snjUIDWIaA0U sndAseq
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[ 306 J

APPENDIX I

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SANAOAIAWATOO

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SANWAOAIOSINAHdS

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[ 307 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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Cee seeeeeseseeeesesreeesersrersssess(yosay AMOUS) BUNISSIPIPULD ¥9I0I9q

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A DAO WOSC ICSC St IEC ae TEC ECONO UCL CHIC RICROR | ORCS (uosay uvILyYy 3svq) ryeydasouvjour
Suratest oar eu dhibr opi net Dien ble th gue Shae cone shaite (uos3y priq4p) SI]ejJUSPII0 x SvIpoloy
Bela.) wl slecme ie 6. 4) lle) alie. @ ete ee u8 6 Wer recory Lier moc ee (uor3y ou1yA 3¥2ID)) SIT@]USPI990
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SANT 8 aie TS ERC ae ee Hrrsseesss(yoray WIEIOH) Yy3¥I[O3 vapsry
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aL eine) wpe eliuleliet ei Stet wiabetetitis) s)ceiubieltsicels (3UBIOWIOS S ]purig) snjvqpioiued
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presen stasis ren sne Ses ee veut (3uvIOWIOS pe3sa19-3}qnoq) snjline snjline xeJosolovyeyg
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see televarenucataneitelate sieksr eth veecs cian Son Ge (uvoted uvlyeqjsny) sn3e{plo1dsuoa
QoS OF ONO te are Oa Oren (uvotjod a}1YM uBdLIEWY) soydu Ayso3y3 Asa
OS TOTS NE Ne ea ae *(urotjed uMOIq BIUJOJI}E)) SNOTUIOJITED
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[ 308 J

APPENDIX I

SHLNOW SUvgda

auaoodd ALIAPZONOT

sap yian clin) ia Mac ahanieilicars rteuta Salle’ siinliacteliatielieheneelereivice *(sIqt p2490u-MPI}S) stjjooturds siqrydies
gop eae ee SOT ie uvl[esjsny) stuuado113s eoonjoul
crie Maviame sete Mahia Maven ates tate emeyreireyy aims Slat pape ev snie da d0urjow
a Iqt popesy-yor[g) snjey I

Sachane wee “olteneue ns these! ameae ue ienaelts seltaiaQelseain Keke poe sae (siqt poises) snoidoryja¥ SIUIOTYSOIY J,
Ricahraine et io La'aniees seine Tevecemme teniaicatetip ni ’etialialn em pileiteinet arta (quejn{[pe Jassa’y) snorueAet
sfelerescnec bile sice/ sclera aeweteusits Tel ohaile) ce aarerioheketkembare O *(y1038 noqvie yl) sniqnp snqidoydoy
piatede @ksiereisle-atarscersse 4) wrGUStaneTapalatsleerriet ein ra (naiqel uvIPUT) sndQvIse snysuAysousyx
aikerrekateds eg ¥ Minne Sister neal a Rie aes SS OIS Ape eae
a eneL ameuce breil lene ec eMe) ale ene leiress Oa 6 eae aliol anieaa> a (4103s az1yM uvadoinq) eIUuosID BIUOdI)
mlontatiche Nelretaurantetaniotiniscuaite aisviah olferCau del olatialucde lau suet ciate nes 103s wen3e uenseuw vinuaxn

(42038 1 W)! a
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[ 309 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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SESInpemakcas mUaWsraaia Pe ameter ota! bal resepalelln apameae (yonp ulrepuey]) een We["sd essouoipusq
Ority PO Cce a Ltcnenat, reoac meron ae Geteib cero ceo O att) GamOnoernen tere (yonp Poo A) esuods XIV
eee eral eat wrrel a? amulet aie eiteM el eitae wie et etevter eel U (yonp pezejnounses)) vjoorayAs SIUJOIPIYIES
alfollbrcahariel shieniey eitarierek stex vs eben.eV.<eileh etnies Suamek deena carte cis keke (yonp AaoosnyAy) eyeyosour vuliiesy
RU ete val Cole age ete ee (29so03 pasuim-snds) sisuoquied snso3do3901g
Giichiar rh ok oh aMahen ap ancbeqien sheccner ec sie tenir cual eraitn'slen emerare aa (aso03 pet) eeuediuies seurlosuy
OCC CROCE TING irs aia iit Te iat ack ae ee Oa COL Sat mt Se CHO Tie) eocs (ues org) eileI1e sidoueyy
SMPLALi aD pram eN a Reh eta uae Mabiowiad ufiwilen pcutin atau abtretane (UBMs pe39ou-ySeTq) snydAsoouraur

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ESS i ae eR Ee Pe eee eR eee (aaureas9s pe3sai>) BlIeAvYyD vuNneYys
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APPENDIX I

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GE, Mel DAO TGC st Sa ea BT ek SR TO 3 SCA as008 UVIIVAMY SISUDDIADUBS UBUDOS2

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WILD ANIMALS

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th, CLP Maes Mniv ca xehian (aris) ipeisi- wl. st 4) wits) el a ve juris senpsesecerteeinipesvene (yonp Pseye yA) soysudysA3eId

9 CREE Oa oe ce MC ORT acm ORCHOMI ME Mik: or irae e eee Ree cere CMCC (yonp uly2q) BOI}SAUIOp seuy
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g TRO RMON GUT Ta TOC MC aa a CRT ECT RC Ta eC (ayezppeys Appny) voulsnssay BOIESE)
he Crd Oe OUD Ae a ICE OFG, Oi CREM er aD at Rerun eee Cvs (as003 uvi3dA37q) snovidASae uayrodojy
8 Cron nMocame Meer Sct eis suid \6i-'e seg e)'e, s)\a)' nr c0/i sub: is sp-fo OMNES (yonp-2073 s u0jAq) 10349
9 WAS Niele) (eh u),S lieu) sl als\\e\n al el eyihi'e Ms] a''e,s (yonp-9033 pe3svoiq-Avsy) JOJOOsIp
II COTS CROn CeO Reo! Oath OAccar ee (yonp-2e.3 P2t]]2q-42eI[q) slfeuumNgyne
fx Ruste seeSanei eens ty ia keine svi evel Sree aia: exupiva (yonp-2213 Sulsapur AA) vende
Sistarahewerie tpl eke isle weliatierisiie’<] (ie! sl eiejianenertecsice, ene (yonp-2e13 snoAjn.q) Bo) (oe) ce]
L eis hAlie), ©, [erieheieleleacriewel{el.» ove aie) phmyeiint a. 61a (yonp-2073 P2ovj-331Y AA) eJenpiA eusfAd01pueq

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Guoogd ALIAZONOT
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[ 312

APPENDIX I

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quoodd ALIATONOT

Raa vamaterstestens teinashcils well shistinliey eobaletelehereuetelancusnelckate (ammgpna sury) veded snyduivysooses
ANC TE Ceci heteee Cos WER MOLEONCALT LOMO WCee Cet EO ae . (4opuos UvILOWIY yynos) snyddi3 InjnA

SAWAOAINOOTVA

ingracaiaavectalaciy Letcietiexateray clvama: ei eens: siptetenmre (sosued3i9ur P93S¥91q-psy) JOJVIIIS

Thang Daliare-sadinte rapa sot alarientduakerie® anon cele seu foams ra a TAI ES aCe (sasued10y]) snuvoiowe sn312 JA]
mikeeltipniniore alld) .s iecleieuip)ibwatusial Mueiienalielsel ans leaptin etmacie (yonp Appnyy) sisussiewel BIN VWSIY
eviekalle;‘eise)lotisriace! <ttelet/el alin tal iajieiec sheteMaliaieliea ania tal cia icra (yonp pexoou-suryy) SII¥eT[OO

PRARL PereeiT SOR eC eee TOR CRCE cere Cre ICCE cy coltrir O Chi romios Sean (yonp pean) vpnsipny
aiéKuaneeheisaltetial lesejation efeliade tele leviuke leaeieera: etetitiaieMelaleitentems (yonp dnvos Jassa’T) slulye

Sire aime ise en num piwa sy 6 he cee) lelleidalienenuitei-eletanelete tele (3yonp p2T[iq-anyq Rie) dnvds) eyleur

AAG Tub B OOD OPOTG>d Uns O OUIGIGIES GIR SN Oe (yonp yoeq-seaur>)) vLIaUSI[eA

sanicaPana dete Pansceteg or otreramerene "rte ones a9 sini erbetne (OMe Ne Ont) vooidu

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EON eeu, CROAT aoa Clr TC A eiiatialal aio ei acatiecielinieausae "(prvysod P238919-poyyq) vuyni ¥}39N
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eiiaNaeearietis tists losis) syiawe nameGenetauerene clever alecere ({eaa uoweuuly) viozdoursd

a Taye were iereriarial be erage ecg hehe gab (7) pedurm-onjg) SIOOSIP

SraiaRocavaNn in iaseisikaxetallel nice folieiietMalislierisnarencitelia exerel Gia (AauvSses)) e[npenbssanb v[nponbsang)
Pie! ehce yevie (taj Mace (ole; ose) a) aie ieile| {alee ies) a)/aite),e,-« cele (jrequid uvdLIyY) eyoudysory3 Ara

panuiju0j—saWwuiodldasnv

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eet ST et et

SNAWIadS

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[313 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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(hchy “ipa POM le Ro REC aie eve biekavien ee erat pesurm-proig) snia3d je 1d

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GS bein ance 6) Sib: Leo O'S. 78L 0) 6) (8),0) 0.10 aw ee Pan oe (yey P2]le3-peyy) SI[voi10q sIjvo10q

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panu1u0)—SAWAOAINOOTVA

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SNAWNIOddS

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[314]

APPENDIX I

See | MG fucle cre inte tnts oc aciawaimigerialvovre haldasyire Tei (a (0) 8) alah e oaiaaehe (yaey ystq) SISUDUI[OIvD snjoelyey g
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6 Ey Mgaviajealxa nat erokeie alta \ehsikatenenins os se emelrgsp nielkenewe (a]svo-yary p2uMol) snjeUuoloo I
oe as |e eesike sce tasten eine scenic ecreliatie ois) steviniscuairwrensteiiole ld (a]3¥0 peysaro D¥TI2 AA) snsootyJoq snjaezidg I
ee ea PE er | Min rain aloo ain) Tei feio wife vsemiey oie felleiiny siiataliei 9s (d2]-ysnos snouisns49,7) snouisn443j I
a Se ee Racer a Re (yMey poedda]-ysnoy) stuuvyof-youes sndose] oaynqiys1y I
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penu1juoy—SAWUOAINOOTVA
SHLNOW | SUVA SaUuIg SNAWIOadS

Qauoorgd ALIAFONOT 10 Ydaq@WONn

[315]

WILD ANIMALS

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ail oie} valet sy ie, uey/e 0 oe (emalis le: 6.0.01" anie

ACEO (OT Oa ) Optoery Osc One OF

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PREM eS Te (eoepeyoeyD) Iyeoow epnq9A
<0. we sees ere ete ete aCe (eoeyeyoey) BINIIA BINA

See Se: wile: (eer 8) ereleenmenerersmenerererel are (ueny) SIIJUDAIqTe

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Ss, (MOSSBIND Pal[iq-10Zed Jassa’y) BSOJUSUIOZ

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ea eae ES (Mosseind vuvuEg) sisuoweUed

7 ees Biase (Mosseind s uvuideys) tewdeys

Bh” Ee eset et a (MOSSRIND UBIIXdP) BIDIIGOTS

Beran neil « (eee) cass Lee terie sim sisi: (Mosseind poiieg) BIEOINSJ

serene: easel Wun e Sells iremeninieee ners (Mossvind P2389.) 1oqsa]e

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Be ezeplehe win sree 6) eh rakerta (Aaying ysnig) IBY Ie] sninj3ay3ey

SANAUOAITTVS

ee a "++ (eivoesed S uoqnpny) Aemisayo sniogAjog
panu1jtl0)—SaWuOdINOOTVad

Are se BR HAMA MTMRA AMA AARC O
~

[ 316]

SHLNOW SUVaA SduIg SNOWIOddS
qduoogd ALIAAZONOT dO UAGqNoON

APPENDIX I

+
_

arzaris\ael etre de)/a.s6 fel wie reralienie! elie <e/iente\suue’ ‘ste eielleriere (piqdAy voumns-uayoty)) epruinyy x
Binay (an(esies /ayrel cote hous hace Volse Wavipo a erie abe vous nance ve moie hie eoule en Memeate ole! (oj ojsunf uvar f) SNIIVA

aitel el tei erisiiuisiie Melcaripy ie ve tei ecteniuietie cacierie ecb (a -ne.cettenleMalionemetenetensee eee (oJ 9]3unf) BAIyURq snes
eee as er ee eee (quesvoyd s jsrsyury Ape’y) oenssiayue
Sith, een Mirena! ria ewaliele. oilcceme toch Ccrse. trek ape siiare aire (quesvoyd uapjoy) snjoid snydojosAsy7y
Sivalia iat ay at-w Soema eta elena uae ane eca a 5 ‘(quesvoyd SdAIY IO ]iva-1eq) ISQAD0I
Oe BSG Nel obvi on vila te Maue ror tall ams hemernei etrebteccah Ciba Cen (quesvayd pa3oou-suryy) snjenbi0}
sheila, she tamer pholien ainsi e eve taWaliexewatisinetieemsNolrotone (ueseayd uvijosuoyA)) sno1yjosuour
ee Efe ra aha eis ssbavio' (oan @as\ierie sade) ood -paleyeun ions (quesvoyd ysijsuq) sno1yofoo snuviseyg
6 eiintfelialta Vaubeseverteies as: witbieaialiehislcstshiaulen pareeliey sine omere (jueseoyd JDAIIS) sniawayyoAu
Le wiedib’ (emefiorertaivaieWei is) fettais ts) orieidel ends oWe ectelkel si aa Nawts e Quesvoyd S$ SpleMpq) ISpIvMpo snovuudsy
(Oy) fe | COORDS ROS OE CER Oro One eCh eb RCC OH (qrenb Alo} BIBIYAI) x1uIN}09 x1UIN}07)
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Se aMeMalis tal s/olsua va éleVieicliccnisrincalts Waltanctieniitel ales stuere (ulpoouvay pe3sedz) euovydes snuljoours yy
ee te fled elitasolroixonsi cays evel in) nie) 0) (eileen tole osama ela) sehioi Danes (edprajsed Jeyny) Jeynyo
if o> ALO croc Seah oinicme coreG ‘+ (a8piaqied padda]-por yooy) sipexes vdevI9 S110}99TY
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(it = 2 tps IG eo cebatecio So a Ri Ol cad mcecectn C)oltho ciocao ocrcoprcuc.c.co poco cia (ueny) ‘ds
g Se OMe aulshaciv telipie calls (ele retviielis.(otaile fairs relate astelis: \ieisel te» (uen3 pedur#-nujsey7)) epnsied sIT@JO

panu1ju0j—saWwuoslt1vo

TOMATO MH AO PF
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Oa = Mme
_

SHLNOW | SuVvaa Sauid

auoorgd ALIAFONOT

AQ ATH Ae OA

SNAWIOddS

iO WAdNWNnN

[317]

WILD ANIMALS

v v
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duyoord ALIAFONOT

Nee ‘die e- 61's ee o:,6) ays iat 6: 6.,6:'e v6 1s piss: e\6) 0 ses) 6) eta se) eiievetselalw . (auesd uvadoinq) snis snigy
oie aie mere aL wheca sere jens m~ sc'6) 96 iene) 5a) 6) 60) oa- wnielfe fe hel jehialin ta: \8\-01 ae see (preisnq yeaIy) epie} suo
SANUOAINAD

Ctr uC HOE ETL EOP Deceit PCat SO *(qrenb vudsse Al) avuinzou0W xAuo3347
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eee (jrenb pajses9 ov5ein>) snjeqsts9 xAj10yoAsdnq
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eee (a8piuqied ureyunopy) sn3oid xA310219
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| RUNES Rca ae emi as eee eau ses wn 0! er ween et wMone Wier (Aoyin3 P23¥][99Q) €}¥]]990 sLvyousy
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SPs aaa ‘([Ao} voUINS pojowTaY S,MOUsYIIAY) IMOUDYIEI ve} BIT

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panu1juoj—SaAWuodITTv9O

sdula

SNAWIOUdS

10 YadqNWNnn

[ 318 ]

APPENDIX I

II Oly.

II Ol,

col
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aduxoord ALIAZONOT

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Sui yahiemer onetagnay serie hells ements arate te anins inne oPiawia Mere ena eee ie ae (rea BIUIBIIA) SNUBIUISIIA

Sante akan elicsa tena svis6,istesanemapiel sashes) este: emitenaa oc tetene eee a ete) Oar (jres sury) suvsojo snyyey
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Ost OsCs OL OSC Ogle OLORCROEDALGO LON eOcO Berio Gd n\rotenaracanencrerenetane *(ewelies) B3¥ISIIO eUIeLIe)

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Weis tet ere eM ne hgh aeedant reise ranesetietanars emiiceletel-ciivmeweneaaha panene aa (u10331q uns) selpoy esAdAiny

per tene dt ercr cst 14 sss a (ness) emseqnlsojoyoousuyy

7+ *(QuBId pouMoID UBdLIY 3seq) Sdaoiseqqis wnsJopnse1

SL One. Urriercostoec iGhowent. Otc Te Ca, Cd ROD to ae OTE (eueso pouMol)) euruoaed BoLesyeq
apievie ores! inttaptetaiie tom allcWajen Rents ptie alsin Miscieiioh Mamie arses ‘(auet9 ayJastouraq) OSIIA saprodoiyjuy
shraicals sisi oN ate Megakesthewuc-ai-eh oteiaun st ecrenoues nies een cetoat (ouei9 uelTe1sny) epunosiqni BUISMITIEY]
@iuttouse! 0): fopre-sukena\i'eyterteliwl lelfeiot(e tellers er sue ties one! 6) os ae atant is (oues9 pedeu-az1y MA) uayoneonsy
Deb weal "ell sixeiia a0 els ofevelieYini feevie'l's) nae csltel) dx aineliesfehienet onal fenaneiraccebincisie ic enmiamer (oues9 snJes) todieys
wei e ee es sie. whehip 6a Jar6h el erhi el a) 00 Na wis) .e.enkep nike tpincteh wrel aan (ues snes) ouosdijue
eral eevee o abeleneg SECT Secs ese De eC caer) (aues9 ou1y MA uvipuy) snuviadoone]
Bicecnceoac Cristie cone he: lexemame cote aire aiid tte oh evel eier smealeneasteys (aues9 Sutdooy A) snuvolioue
Hots prlenel femeitei oupicetie’< He Merieretieneicexenen el ecalies sexer eas (auei9 uMOIq 23]331T) sisuopeurs
Seles silstis suSietiexere eS ests =" (ued Titspuys) snueoixout
GetecnOeD ORLEG serene Decmcen ehoxte aeeueo oko Ta 72 (gues S,Psojr'q) IP4OJ] I] snis)

panu1u0j—SaWuosIn¥o

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[319 |

WILD ANIMALS

SHLNOW SUVAA SaCuUld

Aep I Rink. elejle? Sue eile, 6:61 ere, Silvie) era, piles!) 0, fais els) aie le’ e.la 'ee\ehevelaieys (nd s UlTyues]) UT yURsy snie'y
II 9 eee ee et ee BOY eh asta! (ey enie! louieicbs (e: fe} jaro ye! le) /u, Yo. 8 forielieigexeupiley, aaa 6°» (yn) xvusnd snyoeworiug
skep t RES Aasy ub. Wile) A. Saepe ied ML Mee MTA ieee, aaa talnaianale hapiauatiunaxa eve ue nekivnausne (3J209po00\) JouTU Bpayoryg
9 PSAPs 5 muSeN) eae ees (s9a0]d pues s.23i7991) Sntzended snisended sniupeseys)
8 Ly CEC ae a epeke Saaa ee MR EO Ms AC (Suimdey papavm-Moypa X) snoipur snururerdooIVG
6 On acish Gceckineh Sn buhg tAnixeeec nes aR eLiccor Mirae ed tual. <iefasdnitrasNaleilerakereu cuetn te Sulte (Surmde'q) snyjauea snyjaue A,
6 6 eg poe barons ae. sereeee ss (Q9Uy-YTY? UBITLIYSNY) sIQsoMUdeW snuTyIng
II Ly Br Ng eaeskatien des eae (aaa0yd 9u03s uBdTIaWY YINOG) JOJINOA SNZLII}SIG SNUIZUDIIPIO

SAWNAUOATIMGVUVHS

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FB aS ater ON ENR Cag ee aT CARE OREO teen ee acme Aow8 (uay ysie yA) siperjsne Bony
Fs Fi 5S HR OOD, CRN REALE Cla Ie GONE Ree eNO (oyayng) tAajue3s snjourjaut
Whe = | ON OSS GO Dros eceto SE ce adeo bac enosoupee (o1sAydiod pexoeq-yoeIG) snjouvpour
g Divica Siel (sc sere pin eit eyeh ere mv Wie, a) u,-e\ =)» 16] «16. 0! silele're (e[nuyyed uvIpUyT seq) snaje
g CSE Dan) GlOsCsi <0 OM LN Crce Dur ig CRU OR at Onn nt nt ieee . (uay Rena ajdinq) snopnsaed odydiog
Mpg sis] tia sro ke sive si epeh Tash voya),esimy ¥en hiers) 0 si l>Dsnejersnsinas (ajnuiyyes ajding) sndiuI3JeU sIUJOUO]
*(2[nuT]es epiuopy) eivores
Ree lees aaa we tS ay (uey Joow uvoiuyy) esaydAyoeiq sndosoyys epnuryyes
Ox. AGavAebathessaunieManivisatc sais: le-;se S npr ikon 6) el.et ie (uay JOOUL pe]te3-yoeTq) SI[B1QUSA xAUOQII}OISIFAY
ty Se hae Wa Gee Rae wits alee ay key ali ese (ee) /a:(eu5) ene) mo) 6) ane (ayeId yrlq) BIJSOIALY XBIODOUWTT
skep gt mae RaLincinl Siete Coricn stata ean Mat sl loved wae reir ener ie cahemey erent ({res MOT]? I) sisuadeJoqaAou sdostuin307
8 ¢ pialiatemamalen scteuenan sie ielaestenuervauls sels ones euel a (rer vuljoresy JO uxIOWIO) Bul[ored BueZiog

penusyuoyj—SAWaodslInus

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SNAWIOddS

10 UAGNWOAN

[ 320 ]

APPENDIX I

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ailens acnetiodealicuedaratel che lemareiiol aiietaterecslie feleuaienaierene (2a0p Surusnoyry) eINOIOVUI BINPIVUIT

sama ee Toliaine Wa ecaive fe neLieUar en em ahene lake iewe, te utaca care (uoasid P2T['q-P2y) SLIJSOIIARLH

eliaclavincesTeViecner tere al\upieevialveleie. eice tal le (eller nat omere ume as (uoasid peyie3-purg) BeIOSEy seusol10[y7

PLOROO CODD OSHS DOR ceo 6 (uoasid poumosd-931y A) epeydasoona] seusoisejeg

Rie neuiairel: ol*eWe nn vice rotamer exlevehiay anal iaia el Ghb ian etenntemeiememetcas (uoasid poo) snquinjed

apte te fartalvorrete Vonre Nourse teirecte) exsvisactaha ielomeanat ates (uoasid papyoeds ode) ejouoaryd

Siladienfeyle,Wexlelae sncteifatieiiettey(eiventaviaian tetahaivel eneuieire-lenenailekeAentavts a aute See eu

ata eae en SA RR Re eR RN oot TE uoodid prey-uegq) etary

site alzelialfevie) ain alte so! ‘orpulojieRelieh a ran shinticltetiviiesiatetanals uetemamalletews le (uoasid MOUS) eJOUOINI] equinjo’

C050 TD OOOO OOO TDD Od oobt (uoasid yeradunt uasig) vouse satoAIpeosnyyy

alatlarialisttewettecstelfer stioneian eitereisiiahamellswattanelcatn aa eM eee) asieee (uoasid oy10eq) voyroed BIDIIQO]S

exieutaaheteneitoweiehqdfaie: dial acibaenemalfolre)<aik sinpyishic mame’ uoasid qind e gjodns uosoij01d ue
Bat A) Bq T

ONE DEAD AAT ee CLOSE eT aa (uoasid ae mopedwog) esopeduiod vsseydospuaq

Ue at ielra/ Kare sliurieNe) is ceive; wiau cere: el iefisiiblwi iu, tana lela el ataciaciel alta® aemahieerere (uygnd peyny) vyeysso epuny]

au iviraltara)Vewereris) 61 v’elverioyonlesieinenen ev Sarees Wolsa eae eclauieaC her eantens (s9uTUIT YS yorlq) Bisiu sdoysudyy

iiatlalifablal tori=livulevialiatlollelvewel(aie® l/eiceyis) siiniendalucrietenatiaberacshiabielte a <aemene (uqo3 3} ¥2S0yq) jesnop BuIaIS

Muezer nate Xelavieriarariewsnohectel sien sean eremen es leMele we vereical ows Sel niece vanes (1703 oy1oeg) snoyioed snuviqesy

any aweliaihie 6 -alcelisilsiiekekoncnenis: slcecuayetarniceleie ({{n3 Sult1oF4) snuviuosy3Ils snjv}UdsIV

ax(o,\el ib arielovielcalgeiter ies cites. ©) wr pciaitey! eiim 6 .6sCelial tes (a) “es elaine euems re (q[n3 UI9}S2 AA) SI[B}UIPI9IO0

Wieiiel'iv) a’uel (0-6) 07 vl e}ie6) Yelseilsy al (an/en er isvie, (ef) atieliells) enh bee ({jn3 pexoeq-yoeq 3v91D)) snulieur

OM IGech rec CON Omen Miata see Chto n Clth Okey car ‘ és 0) bike *(q{n3 JOATIS) oeIpueloyorAou

eieruenieeMalerisubiienial.te apialovielis tute) telneie ey beste) wince wn Melee pavcletcaahe Mie ({[n3 SurysneT) Bypoae sniey

panuyu0oyj—SAWuodilddvuavVHo

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12.0 Man!
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SNAWIDOddS

10 wadqWoNn

[ 321 ]

WILD ANIMALS

duaoodd ALIAAONOT

¢ ¢ SOmeeee aati eae) el alie legit Nake a cerse ie eee. oat alee fe" ce (aAop uvsanbiv yy) susdsoqni ZI
Zz Te eibtoscad tinue oa ceo geen Peco eae (2A0p qzevay-Buipe2|g) eoluozny equinjooryjey gt
iE em eS eaten. ane nm wie leknpie\lenerenen aa ac ice Sy oop aa 6a (eaop-qrenb Appny) PAtgeanecelest viajadoaig I
TT | al SA A a ee (9A0p pazuoss-931Yy AA) esa3dhyoeiq SLIQUDATATNY v[Q03daT iG
¢ 9 ots: seus tehene -OLsLe pane hae aT eae? Diam as ectn da ete inet aioe ate (uoasid p23s917-) sajoydoy sdeydAd9 c¢
9 Mutua bm usiell ses te) 0: ece7. 6 eneibic Raaaee wet ate eel pee OMe (uoasid pewmnyq) erasrumnyd sdeydoydoy g
+ as en ee Ae eR ee ea rR ae Ne (uoasdid padurm-szu0ig) vsajdooyeyo sdeyg OL
g 9 skid)\w (6a! 6.00/10, 0) 0) wile) uaisuie (Sta s)is ens To levausi8. 8 5 eye (2A0p peduim-uaeI4)) eoIpul g
Ol ie iy eee eens (eA0p use13 on MNT) BIOTYIOSAIYyS sdeydooyey7 9
9 § ECM CaO BT ee He EO PrieCet ps SONY ROS One) CORE OMT REN EL Cutie (2a0p adey) sisuodes BUI gi
¢ Mag | ae ae Gee Ne (2aop punois ueqnd) epravye vutsossed eyadourseyy 9
Tle eye areve /OteMm seminal et orale ele.) 6 caves Die Le (eels, Re ae Use a) 6. Dawlin manera can (aA0p vouy) Boul elejepseas I
9 ele) oe pone ene, eee 0m Miele wwe” <8», (asp eey 6 aCe” Giyele.e els (2Aop puowiq) eleound G
8 aie aioe) 0) sl Bl esis) or ah oue tel 6 0 (eave. é-8: eee te. ee ee BEe ee 6 heat eloce (29A0p ¥1927) e}e1I}S UZ
§ L Sule pe tain koma” oie tail ot aicate Lee siiucinice jas ota Wee a cela kelletet ae eam (2A0p [nyaoeeg) eymburs3 +
6 6, Sie WANs) use Sco es ip) win sas ye. 6 61s s le 6 8 78Ce were (2A0p pesleprnoys-1eg) sijesoumny eijodoary z
Sd oe Sniohwislivits) (wi eriaané) le Jsy's. sera held) o's -.w edge se, ware (2A0p p23j0ds-pyesowq) sojidsooyeys Injin{, 9%
9 Sie Megane siden cal diio “iets BY all sini) eroll d- Tals wid) cals nae ne hwten lab ne lain (2a0p P2deT 499 Ny) Bulisy erjadoyidg OL
a4 5p Aaa a ae ae (2A0p pexsou-suis UvILIJY 3Seq) voidos} vjoordes ov
+ Tes NSS eae ee (2aop Sutusnow reseyy) vzeT{IOIdssad suatdisep I
I gI eke ois lets Briss ale alsoalaist aaa lanctendie a pralce CW a Se oe (2aopezziny pesuryy) BIIOSII eijado3dang IBS.
y ¢ akegsMawi@ eset ekeceipeiesaleh aracaceie pie. a. Wiles. wi paetatete (2A0p posurm-o31Yy AA) Boeise eyodojayy ra
9 Cu Sie eves Miler e elas ® ale \GRO anda sean alanis lellecmaslene Ueleeterprelale (2A0p UBIIXTA) tuoshei3 BInpieus7z I
panu1yuoj—sawuoiltdvuvHo
SHLNOW | Suvaa SAuIg SNAWIOddS
40 UTA#WAN

[ 322]

APPENDIX I

Ox
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Heng esmemesanrer es cuepar stam nbressiews nye ee ‘(00383909 yor] JeorgH) snurss9}v Jasiosoqoig
[atatatialtrateyeichicl eile’ aius ieiheracwarie: > teiiniia cv>loMeaieae cars *(003¥ 4909 3} v9S0}]) vypideoresos
SEPMaRemn seh Rc sods Honta- Aches Aaa aie "++ ++ (00384909 surddipryg) vidAdomnjewory
Pi daly) Bt

So OPIN EN Gae AECeOO OORT Gata ac Storer ery ee (00}¥4909 poAa-aieg) sidouwA3
Sareyeteevents nesaniv cterass 'e. Qo. 8 1c sear (00}¥4909 pa3}$a19-pas JvoIN)) stsusdonjour
O) By G26) © 1eLeehe e600. 6: pb 8 0 6.6. 676 (i, 0,010) eee We elbow dunedn ane eee (00384909 231 MA) eqye
Bb) BG ee. ay eu pe eR Lewes iG, © \e exaiisliéx6 elie eeneun (00384309 § Ja} vaqpreT) 119} BaqpvIy
SMeballel sVanawereler's Pisin lwlle tame fetial ateMeizeke tere ae (00384909 po3sero-inydyng) vyoyesd 0 VAL Y
Je) EGOS ORES AFOOT 00.0 DC O_DaCaere (00384909 Suvs-Sury) winjqvoyes uopeydasoyyes
es Coats Sa a ee - (oon OT seni euurlouod ¥331sdosso

(J994110] YSnyA]) I I ID
pies ee Bens eg (994110, poysvasq-AyedG) snjopridayorsoyys sayo}n2371sq
eR enurel ete euema ese hut oeceiener sre, ote? elemene se ore (yanbored $,U9}S810,7) TU9}SIOJ snssojsoyois |,
eleiial faite VevieiseMeitat cl’clke wits alexis) 8) favre eyleieanseser este inmeneeatters (snq99,99 P2PIs-p2yy) sijv10390d SniJo'y
Dwi aea mclal ante SSaeinigse as soy Eee eS ATOT Ue Ue) B[NIIeS v][IIUIOG
Sp petawene tees alae tent eulaKeneliereteielensyieWer ce eweueicn eicalleieleysasice aay p2490u-39]0I A) BLVDLIVA soy
Sele. ee *e\.0. oe; a s.0 0). ee) 18, @ (eyiula, S210. '6\ 0 leu6 :e0ey ep /arieitele ceviatraie tal . here snc) *(eay) stjiqv3zou JOJSINT

SANUOAIOVLLISd

nye lie=(eiteirar- oljel ie) @lalvolwieiere'e lesen s/leielels Lame eliat aliens (uoasid peumolo B1IO}9IA) BIIOJIA

Reece rera te ae! nvivileheneavejte-elfewelvahe: aiceisie) ls’ is' -<) sl eXe “eltascelyeniet rs (uoasid peuMo.) B}eUOIOD vinoy
Seep ee ee wes 0 Cie] w)avieKelers: s/ clei pic! ce eve veltel sect ‘(uoasid JeqOoIN) voleqoolu seusoyesy
SS OS eas Eee oes Reger (eaop-jirenb peprey-enjgq) vyeydasouvAd SBUSOUIEIS
mite wheel (eon eh wiles) elepelis ave} emanate’ alin) semeil sicsrelense (uoasid eSUOM-ESUO AA) eqvoid BIdIBSOONI'T]

Panuyjuoyj—SAWuaOAIudvavHo

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SNAWIOddS

10 UAANNON

[ 323 ]

WILD ANIMALS

Bee §I

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Meee oM celine cietn rene Mnitec ec ercrieren einer tice Te Nementelvewemenere an . (2Imuos pesurm-onig) eo1d vainyisdg
SIMS i Conon Or eit it i Crd yee en fer or Cate Cac (anbored Buljoles) SISUSUT[OIvD sisdosnuos

Soe eksneneksh wicacWereacke ce; achat cule emcee Man Meee Mel aomie (gonbored $.Z39g) SIIB[NOUeD
ees ae (janbosed papeoy-MoraX) vussoyjuex xeurjiod
FEO cee ane oat Geyer onc ICacrOMCeCa In On 6 (yanbored Pp2uMOID-UdPjoOy) voIne

Shenvulstsite s),(ol s/c sete! eile eiivtic witallate .OUNtelaenvuerslace (gonbored S [12PP2M) T]@ppem eynisdny
SioNesinunvavistelieilehpaetieW ere Zeta vetalecaticriemteasle lle) (aMa tel sue) are (aanbored Avputyy) Aepueu sndvpueyy

Ae TES 8 Giese (janbored pada-a31y 4) SAuasoy[e9 snwyeyiydoone]
BiiaiZahie Kovels feheliewicallu-e\etle a) ce-ie/<oi.6) 0 1e Xe /eielleii=z elias) te (enbosed uvizIe Fy) v1a3doro[ys

Shals/oltetis wel oie ipnetaltalenis) piel eneiie, sfelienutslionsievielnceipie Qonbored ud2J4)) BIOTYDO;OY esunrsy
SMenehGuayanee sr steven wubhenereneersaatiade & (qoared P2TTIq-41y,1) vyoudAyshyoed v3} 1sdoysuAyy
Ppeceretasa e eTCs CERCOROM MEIER Ree Paci hha BOR ee ai ee (Mvorur Ss uyeyy) Tuyey vov3zisdoiq

s+ +295+s(MeowUr S.UIss¥D) sITOoTNE
Sheliv sd oMeliem psiielelaliviisleljerene)su=islstin:6 5) estes! (ehsMo\lviie)s/'e\>/(¢ is iele a (mvovul S JOSI|I]T) eurovIeU
cc | . (MvovUul u2013 uBITIZeIg) BIDAQS
siiajinjia)aohalieyelivice \eliaierslinaelis) eisies) (le) a8) 60 o/\eiieyayinial ales . (Meovur ugo13 ¥21D) ensiquie
peeoenhe aun agicee caren Rt SE ee (MBOVUT U99IB UOIXdTA]) BULIIXOUT SIIeITIUT
Sei Octane Meir riceh tele iaiiecoiiiviisy erisrie sisi salon's Ae) iviai sin celte Keister *(MBovUr uo013 3¥915)) sire} TUT
Spi Mone eh siinilefisite vs] ieltatkectn:s} isiiel'=\te:(ni-sels ie cn\Malioue\isiieine (mvovur onyq pue poy) viaydosopys
sees eC Boers pee CARO BUT Moyo pue enjq pue pey) Ovoeul

a) evabwiielelie..s 66) exes s)(elere ieee iu (see atm ad Cece Ue *(Mvoew aniq pur MOT]? X) Ppuneiele ely
gee eat eh Rect ea ing (Mvovw ouTyjUIOvAPY) SnuryjuIovAy snysudysopouy
Uireyroto rere liee liars loins exe! al’slsaSelisiis kaze (vue locup’s\zeile]is vee ({2938349079) snoipuryjoy snydojoidaT

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SNAWIOddS

fo Yadq@Wnn

[ 324 ]

APPENDIX I

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quoodd ALIAAONOT

ejbhisy (eel ieliefial is) snhehis}iey ie

GIs) Belle s\ ens) (a ce (0) (ene ie

One Decne Ot)

ike} 10) 's) Insiodalie;cenie) enle: eine

Cec One Car yecy Cie ec kt ere ad

els) /a@) (ae) °@ ae Ler ele\ (ee) 6

Orcinen Guteo din iocmoaoto (aossed P93U01J-331Y AA) suodjiqie
The ciatiaal ea amel artes betece temanome (qorsed ueoIy 0}10q) BIEIIA
ke Ra olte waste hetioee monte Receaebewe iotenevekese (uozeury 2AT}S94) BAT}SIJ
eI RIC (jorsred poysoyo-Mora X) sipeuwmnjne
CAs Wale pi eee ae el! Si[euszipta
«5 a allel sistas eteualisie e jJoIIE pe}U0sj-poy eyy JoJOpoyr
oRegeniahs Bos (jorsed popvoy-moypad sTqnoq) x143eI0
sia Seah alan ep te (jossed padeu-moye x) vieipedoine
(uozeUy pa}uolJ-MoT]IT) sisusweued vpeydooo1ys0
een wes (uozewy popesy-Mor]aX) epeydasoryso0
ear CEI (uozewy polopfnoys-Mo]]a X) sIsuspeqieq
Mie felisnistalve).e, le) (ste) ejkwita: wren vain Qorsed pezuosj-any{q) BAT}SOB
Skah dhiaue) eitaveralienetnse acs (qorred pesuim-osueI¢) BOIUOZRPUIe
Bye TRennastass Log (jo11ed posojoo-ule[g) BJeUJOUI BsoUTIEy
sliet artes! elie) isle aire calla ia) eLearn echeMene . (jo1red ATe2 yA) esoulley Buozeuy
cis fa «0.4 a enemas tieiaiee yonbosed pasurm-MoT]9 {) SusdSaIIA
( Pesuis- ATX)
Deter e eee ee eee (jenbored pasuim-asuvs¢Q) Wty Bory
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see ewes See ee 6 wee eae *(qanbosed IAO]) siepnsn[ s11930}01g
siteraliepsyieial tours’ (ere eee eeee (qapossed pexoeq-an{q) BpIAIA
te ee (Qjapossed padurm-onjg) eutsassed vpnovzisg
mae Wehewafieneds touted ea au den (qanbosed Joyen()) snyoeuoul snovzqisdoA yyy

panu1ju0)—SAWUaOdIOVLLISd

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SNAWIOUdS

10 UdaWON

[325 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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duoodgd ALIAAONOT

PEER Gene ench at tile vee ia tose dsaioniatal it ania) mrelisle re ohecet eas (yenbosed uoasIg) saprioqumnyoo

cs Tm Re Noe Ee as aCR re (qanbored papeay-wossorg) snyeydasouvAd

elrbib veils Kelis Vo. To),'e "ers vite lelveiictie)wlte pliwlls ete" a siete. (aanbored poxoou-suryy) snjenb10}3

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sina teipata sax Suie xe Xo niars Yellow aire -aeiey nha de awiget=ehe levivers taca=3) 4th (jossed VSvA 1978210) VSPA sisdoovi07y
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pedieh ous eer uaaegecees gah Qossed umosq uvdyy 3seq) loryosyew woAour

ee eg Ne ae a eee Ne (aenbosed poaysvoiq-aduesgQ) siujusayni

now le renarie enene Pvt or mee ate ae aoe eT *Qonbored p23 UOJJ-MOTIA T) suolIAey

a STATE A ee cea ie (jo11ed payeos uvdtyy 38244) Mwyar[nd snjeydasiog
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cigar “CB ae Dat0ab a0 0 -CREROEE PU CECEE MERU AO. (jo11ed proy-yMzzq) snutizidiose snA3doraqq
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Fara ams Ras werancrsignnes/enie' a ean Gv e-0)i6) Chameenlone . (jos1ed eee he reeeo

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ER Donan ee ERIS BA Ta (jo11ed poapie3-z40ys) sninAyoeiq snjeosepipAvsy
FE LE BR sca (jor1ed sourg jo ajsy) unsiewyed epeydasoone]

Se smsboWalesl come ahs) Wandelt emererers) shei/s)-eene (uozewy po}U01J-331y MA) vpeydasoone]
aneienlononie)ev/¢ljelieueuieasheietekexe lere-olle), omelace) sis lens (jo1red osurwo 0}ues) SI[BI}USA

ot esac eS Toe no Cita (jo11ed pojuoss-331yM Jassay) vuvU suOJsIqie vuozeUY

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Petr te tot) Gas eee (9 (me ©) @ane tena, v0 6) lee «0 se) e-0 (nod¥mo}3 Ss uosp[vu0q) Tuospyeuop
di lehelwte ele ete le AlaHpuel el eleh:ecwire a sve. 6) ects se * (nodBINO} P9}S919-931Y AA) xrey Asoo snovin

SAWAUOATITANONS

Sian Serie gee eae G **Qonbosed ssvi3 uvipesny) snyepnpun snovzqisdopayyy
eS aie oka (janbosed pasaprnoys-uapyoy)) snis£1a3dosA1y9
Se a a ‘(ganbosed Jauuoqg-anjq pojusa-poy) snoyssoyeuaey snjoydasg
Sj ene" (agin) fallolja:ie\ erie) emsjie, ‘s)lexel le, elie) oleiie:ievics=ar's\in)iecpi'e feiss Qanbosed B][PSOy) SnIwIxa
2 isiapalysreve) (asc(aie! aiiete)feliener-al sneniel sicker eliskelfalisneloneMeteemsasaenenepexe * (Ar07) sdaonyed
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Hh SRGWO IEC" ORGEREOE 0 nC DE jonboied Suisuvy poauMosd-oniq) snyjnsyes snpns10

( ney fa) Saisie Soin S er
DeoKol/o)ra' lehehieliecieie\iamauelial cfairelin’onsncuereret ere (paiqaaoy Po1e][OI-MoT]9 I ) v}euOosied
8} is kule!(o)wrieia'eiioesle\toiieire! esi! 'e lege! s) o> acajel ace: nonin merevecewe (paIqoAoy essed ny) ovUurl]l]

@)-shreu(shet s){u(?n)<eMape)keyie!-« .asiieiis)8l>i.elasa! ee eelien se iajene ee (PAIqoaAaoy S$ JOYST) Tayosy

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Ne SO oa gaan SOL (paiqaacy poproy-Avig) stsuoiieosesepeur stusodesy

piiMiiegalcletiat anal Gusitalax vanstacerelie tunanceene rete (qanbored Sururys p2y) suapueyds sisdoynysshg
Seats nei ss Ghesensiemecs ***(qanboied pasurm-uosuiy) sniajdoryy Asa

Suis alta ayaa trike Halve heaeile esl etrehoniallexskene rat cce cameras (aanboied Sury) siefndeos snjorusoidy
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shyt alin iiera=iehetton eiaienen slisfaalvicacepenousyeva ‘Ganberes peyiey-duo'T) snpnesisuoy

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Fe Be seg (Jowj0ur YsIpp2yy) Susdsojniqns SNJOUWOTA] G

© \ejie(’a; ws epimsta 01.) 6c) siheWe) Silene ®) sige PCED (v100qeyooy) svsia ERT @ | tI
pan eae (MOPIM-S [TIM-yOnyD) SIsudUT[OIvD SNUIOJSOIJUY I
Paya RO Ty eC ey acy Ce eile, fakin fa) at's (y3ynowso.1,7) Saplosi43s snsivpog I
ey ee ({Mo ysodaroy]) SvIpuvyeasavAou xnvysoTIdcg I
fo) (are sieeie) i6))/6) 18-0) 8) era )6 10716 sie ([Mo petieq epltoy.) Tuaqy]e BIIVA I
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stmo sdoog porea-331yM UJaYyINOG) NUIT sOINIT sNIC t
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CIT CME bac Wat Rt) ce ee CC CVSS ([Mo e) Fal) pejj0dc) snueoiuye I
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sige iat ([Mo pausoy usa}s944) SuddsoTyed snuvrutsita I
acne Sees See ae ([MO pousoy }veID) snuvrulsita gol
fe Tes) |) (lies vole, sania uel (e'e Xe) ca) ib loi ie) is xe) ee) On O90 G (Jo 9198) oqnq oqng 4
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Sirelimi@ism) (© wre) mu IS) ei ie) eile Ke) (soc) le ([Mo uleq UBIISY) sIuyye eqie CALE
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penuiju0yj—SAIWaodtItTnon9o

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[ 328 ]

APPENDIX I

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al eter Tare lente arswile! 6. (een wmetieveilesie) tel Gle (6) 0) (ale: :) ») o) elke 9. cafe) elvamivwiei¢ bene 8140116) eens (USAPYY) XPRIOO snAJoz
aueMe aM ba/sixetae’ (al ie) eats lentes) 6 Velol(e lle? aweneiie.e!eMerlens ue icmaL eee (sayoeoAy 4qi9q) snuviqiap
Rec fareteianchisvouswaltatie kalkaive ais euies UneLOhonebaxspeieca (aayoqvoAy sopeysry) snjvinydjns snsurjiig

atcha ei eciatesteneeswitel'are.vietelefe bi prarte aga ws@henetereta: sispala (paiq 1a) sl]joorpnu SOysUTYyIVUISEs)
iS [owiaiotats sions) o usis Ge. ta lieuaileliveep ele lielsh(e) e-nilerse)ablere)acpcasscis (xo01 243 jo 4207) vjoordns vjoordny

SANUOATAASSVd

CEES RST Ae eee LO RaDiematislkemseWen ecienener eietie (s9y99dpoom pesurm-uepjoy) snjevine sa}dejory
Sines tp lensrenm cbse Geass eraser (sayoedpoom vy) stpersAdoin sipersAdoin sninjuas
SS ls ieee oss hea pane ikea (JauvoN0} Palfiq-2ao0o1g) snzvopns snysudysooepny
ilar restau sitebiavrelrecisYinvivelel otis) (eh bi (ote) suuvalcohe:(ahehaihstrecpBaliel eWellefiakavahate, (uvono} Puy) joue

aeewrerlocatle ene welksiielar’esep(elieirs ei ai'elie) stem ebiel «Moltalisiieyatte (uvono} P2][!9-pey) sijtuour

Sapriaeny eee Se (uvono} p2]aex4-3JO0YS) sn}eurTIvotAsIq snsoArosid

PCE Sas a ph ee Bice ps (uvono} paqfiq-[aey) snzoarosid snsoatosid

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OND (DED MtaOuaecete GO} ROL) OROR UD hcecieiacieer O (jaqieq s vyseq ururq) TuTwa snuoydAyoesy,
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renee ay in Sra eo vores *(qIquioy payxvaq-poy) snysudysoryz Asa sors.0ydoT
SE is eae pam Bac © ae ({[Iquioy ponbsed-sA¥du07) siusodiq SsordD0YSICT
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WILD ANIMALS

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**(paiq JaM0qg UI}¥S) SNad¥TOIA snyduAYysJoUOTAg

PUPUSRSAS L8 [0p Leuwh pce yeMe ne Gedelieds narweieh/enaiiarte, ele(a.ecerlarwrny sae . *(ysnoy) xesosoyssAd xvsovoysshg
Sie tai(e ie ela:6 tells etn ete lle ee, sc avess o\oplal'alindaliann Gace t Ahei3 uviTesjsny) vaJould vaplyin43s
efeel ere a8 ere ee eile laracjetisl ‘el-eannWoenevs, @iféeMelar eee ane ‘(Avf uvjvon J) vorueyvond eydojissi5y
a6 b\ede-iaNevialrete Sieh tie Sas PPAR ES Ce ee eau elga say) esonxn] Binoyjuey

iis} oiieikaln taice eles) ole t algal alte cabins a atletehe ys) pulse ae, phe feme wglens **(Aef vovII(}) sdosAry9 xerooouvdy
ee Tel ALO ed at OMG Cece ema eciet ae DRO a aCe (Avf BIUIO}ITED) BITUIOFITLD eurosopayudy
eC MachreCae Mae eC Or rer Omer Tite (Avf pepray-yoelgq) sud}d90uUv 119] [938

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Bye as eE eae, Tas Syspos eA say) urejunoyy AyD0y) sijeiides sisuespeuvd snasosti3g
MOM On Chet RC Der Bec Oa WORE NOOR OMOMCIRD er a et Di ole OR CEC ‘(Aef asouling) s1}09n9] sn[nises)
CC ieee ht ia mt ey ere Gece ar eiis.-67 0. oie te) iteh 6 are (aidseur peqyiq- p2y) sije3i1di990 BSSIIOIL)
Ritehwanciguincites slierteecie.senieira (elias hee) 108 witae, te: [elas eiie._ erie epleire (aidseu uvoLowy) eluospny

Sided bien vette ab Me) eiishicbeplasw ere ions vameliyceusiel sajna sfeaa Weiae ele © ste, t0 (aidseur uvadoiny) void BIg
mbeMogiol Wilei vileli= Baltepreisen.eofal «i qs)te) wires cel. shingn ta Tien * (1ayoeIOJNU S$ 4AeID) vuviquinjod eSevayionyy
SOS Cac eerie Pao ener BC ee an 50 (udavi payseu-o314 AA) SI[ooIqye IN}[NAIOD
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SG Ta ck ideouere Ucn Oe OCD CTO) CLE CEE NCR ORC RC RC nae are ae (Mold paasvaiq- 2314 MA) snqz

On Os OME GOI Oc NCOs ORCL EO aE rec eI (Mos9 uviyesysny) saplouosod

SO At CORD CEO UOLONE TL Oa aT. Chel EMR OE ec a (udavs uvdIaWYy) snj}enuis XvIoo snAso7z

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[ 330]

APPENDIX I

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eve leliere Mesto arabsstele [erere eve: bv, seis eis elec e enere Sitolamener ete “++ *(deoyoviq) eypideorne vraphs

ena ereMe aie fereits Dilslrelionereie (een eo aile nq: Op 1) ao. igeedetne (urqos uvodoinq) vynosaqni snovyy ug
SorimesiuGaMe ss srutieve te nemete (eo wher eseteseienet aetna: ee MES encmn ts (ayeSurysIN) eyouAysiesour BIUIDSN'T
ener se eee ee ehievie Nese (ene 0° (0 (61.0 ee § ateremele wisi « (ysniy3 }UIIIFT) iseyjed v}e}I)n3 Bpyotoop AFy

ee arta te Malvern De ewlecre sie gare este, “asta RO TeCaY sORY Wg Sa SN ae (ysn1y3 a[ISTIAL) SNIOAIOSIA
wieiellcfteters felis te leMakebas tlesiower snesetonotabe mee vette (ysniy3 Suos uvedoinq) soyawoyryd snpin [,
Menenerotieuemesor asce ohana ravens’ swehabere poo mepemncnacteaees at hasetane seacis (uIqoyy) snijo}vsstuU

Sage <r isiTo Se Payee for oan erate lnlgastelie ner entenn tena ere aeraebere (parqypeytq uvadoiny) vpnIaw snoijsourlg
s/facbnfleVlutfavie\na!'e| (ei\/e) {obre] els: (e)"eleyate nately Tiel onan .e Merisy e-inseateneaerc! JoyseIu} UMOI ) wnIni BUIOJSOXO T
octeteiramieteemte wn ar telberaniec(erze Ne te Mahahie-talesiem eter eh ene tee Wh ereue @ ey seusieonse eyjoyIWING
coy RECO ea oO) (patq Surysour uss3s944) Snsajdooneq soj30]3Ajod

ota teqema alte Val ala jena NeiraiioMeule harist elOtapiona lie evar MCC e Rae eeerrOwe se (paiq Suryooyy) so}}0][8Ajod on
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sor esssssss(usniy3 Surysney pojseso-331ym uvdAvyeutpy) snydojooney xepnsiey

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tee eee cece es ([ng[nq pepesy-yoeTq) sisusjesueq snoyssowaey esduros01GQ
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pffelisifor a)futielc as asfuitalctoite taltuiveliehiey te)rerteete tal's\teiie™a) se archesans (astpesed Jo psiq P2y) eiqni

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WILD ANIMALS

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Dre ah ts ee el vee (yepAya pojiej-iyeys) vider vinusesja 7
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Cho NON, PACLOMORO OWO 1) CROLMOL ENCED. Che? CC TTCRe Oy Oren CeO Ea ( juu uvskv suv}uvo ezAXdsoto
oe ppeeea it ial oleh pcarsey
gaa SCORES CoC uD ONS Le (taydadxo parjaq-pay) snysuAysoryy Ara sndeydng
sipuas seltafelilia teens: eaten Meuaenewoge aekape (Burpreys poeddes-o31y 4) snqpideorqye resdos9jaf7
strewiaytviny oftewter abreil aite) airtel elie stiamelvsMen ehletrane cis trices ae eae ee (Surpre3s pe3se12) IIOpBATes resdoajey
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Say es feReler niin ielotoireliste)he)(evesislce ts lero ate pesttun elena (Surpieys Suturys) snoiyeqou xeroov0idue'y]
OOO! ON Daly UCONN TT TERIOR MORON CRO g Te MORES ON Siry Becicr Cee NCl (yeudyy) sisusuvael

MERESMAN Mel aiin’a)le, aie sya Wiel (6) 0) a) she. 'e! e: cca elope a) aim ah Medseh bab wiPaen salina wus eres (yeudyy) ‘ds B[NIBIN
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[ 332]

APPENDIX I

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aecitectemamerenaie Us scikseouel paler. sitellet iareite (youy poysvoiq- ynujsay7)) XBJOYZIOULISED Si
SCY ONG Ga Cea OGG GT OIE ac *(.,unu,, Be) youy poprey- yori) eypidvonyze 99
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[ 333 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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[335 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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SauIa SNAWIOddS

10 YAdNON

[ 336 |]

APPENDIX I

mLO CLO tO CO

SHLNOW
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eae eee SESAME Se SERED APT R.A RAE ({isqeduou s.sayduvpoey) Woyouvse] vulsosseg
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[ 337 ]

WILD ANIMALS

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[ 338 ]

APPENDIX I

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aa epiintre’ ai (oe) is\rowe! @ isco’ elers) eave) ane pip'/a\e’ oe (paeziy S SNIUSZISI AA) TTUSZI[STAA snzAydejo17

panuyjuoj—VITILNaoOVI

Re) 8i/e) w 8' (ue eC) eel -@ 1s) e)jee) 8 & 616 616 18, @ ee)» uw ei javie ia) ms) 0)/6 Worenare .

SHTILdaa

Ore amrmad +

we tmaa te AAA eS
re)

SNAWIOddS

iO WAGTNWNnN

[339 ]

WILD ANIMALS

SHLNOW SUVaA

aquoodd ALIAAONOT

SuOuG we) se ms, . > eneiis) see
see Ct et el ae dete Ct Yat) . .
. OPOn eC ct . o. oa

. see eee o. .
. se fei .
a eae oe Ce OuCh iy Onan! .

C2 Or Pe Ut ail Var hak Det) 5) pane
one) ate o- F) Se ene .
ee eee . see Sen

CURE etre) Contec ev CCIM CT) SGmCbe et Mn et . "1330Y9s seAIporiyg
Pia ae *(Suvjsuioog) sndAj snproydsiq,
**(vaqoo dunj3zIds paysou-yovygq) stpoorsdru
POPRD UM shs TB ee(BSIOD uviydA3q) arey vleny
be etme (eyxeus uinbayiepy) snrapny

vp pen segs sets <a t MBUR ESOS) ‘ds snimisiy]
"+" **(yIseID0U 393% AA) SnsoArOsId

srretssss* (peaysaddoy) uaseyour uoposiysy

A tO GOL E An (29uR]-9p-19,]) Sn} e[O9D UP]

seen pes ose eei(tadiA S855) BIEMIOIE
Peete ce nees (pssnawzere {) nssnovsesef

eevee S .6 Gea Ciel 6 28 DEE SG LE Sate IBIOS
W638 u ble ve 6) ee) 506, 6 wens lel © ls eile -eltsve *(voedSiv7) xo1}¥
prey Nes Seatets **(eovsvsel [re}-931Y AA) IpotAnou sdosyj0g

"vo 7***(ayxvusepjjeI punoss)) snes
srrstrseees + (eSnesessey]) SnjvUua}Zd snINIzSIS
recta err ee IO” (ayeusayi3ey) ‘ds
"****(gyevusayj3e1 poovj-doq) snoyis103
5 belie eee aes (ayeusoysiVs Jost) sudiy
"7+ ** (ayvusapyjes papueg) snprs0y
Bbere, alba nd Siend, oie geex (exeusopq3Vs p2y) jnsxo

“'***(QYBUSIIIIVI VIUIJOJI[ED) JaJIOn] snyuanyuosd
stresses se es ss (QyBusal}j}es d1IvsJg) SnjJUaNnyUuod snye}0I7)

Panuiju0j—SaLNaduas

SHTLdaa

QRraAtHOH AH
ron

wowra
a

SNAWIOddS
IO WadNWnNn

[340]

APPENDIX I

SHLNOW SUVdA

CCN uC Sen ae (ayxvus [[Nq vIUJO;I[VD) SuBJDDUUL ADJIUD}vd

9
§ I eee .
9 = cient
v I oy

6 . eee
is Cet ie et .
9 : ;
b ie 5;

$ wees
¢ e . Ciat)
9 Z Sauces
9 Mey
g e-. .
I average
g arateseiete

qauoodd ALIAZONOT

TECH EUECHCNCNCI HURCICRC REC RC EC ICNC CECH. ee (oyeus 14 UI9}S9\A) I9JTUdIVd
SUShAL eH abe oer enieldmens ene henieireisnatenmephenieieialiaunis (ayeus our) snonajouraur stydoniig
Srareralecnreaye evevala Wo: es. elabal en cunsleanafen ten seMalahsheMilca skedndetsonta ners sisuspewuye stydoryT
SCH MC ROSL CNC CROEC RCE eect ec ORME CRC ec. OMCMON CYT ett Onn oseentnn Ts TUaTIO UU
aDa eR fe) fois Sita W A Sie" CHC OM CHOC CRON CRC Cur nceCR Chinen) cHcT oc te eees dayuens uopousx
irccuchoipeutic capkct Go Ceoint tier ankenG Ga (19ppe Sutpvaids) X11}10}U09 UOpotoIFT

Poetteseeseeeeees(gygus TIAL) WnNSuEL winjnduet.4

Sis Suske Puree! ee we Teh nate (oyeus Sury P2T]]Iq-MOTTA X ) J9ysvsiy[eo

ae a ed euantes sleyreperekers Rance cheer aig (ayeus Bury yo1v9G) soprosdeya
ONE RO aie MARIN ICIP non (oxeus Bury s afAog) t[Aoq snpnje3
One es WW ece)u) 6 6 6) Bie « a.0: eee (ee Sie Se OnnLd cl (ayeus sury) snjnjos sijodoidwuieqT
© (Sis) erialia onto) 6 6) © «(6 lee le (eure en e.iefe eh nie (oxeus $.9}U09 27) 19} UOD9] SNIISYIOUTY YY
CCC er We Tee Wet Va at YC ot Dei Tee ac WTC Te ge Per uc ace tar nec he . (ayvus Jap 1v9G) BIUINIOD vioydourasy
PCT ROR ac ei Cie Cm eat Pa OO sOaeciac ar iacn cy OFC cl Ct a0 . (ayeus yortq) JO}91I}SUO0d Joqnjoy
srressessssss(ayeus diya uso3saqq) winqeusry winqpsey
Dae CG hae ae i oan (ayeus “ue P00) slid aaa
SOO) ONC) DQ) OOO) CCMCIIOs CTNCh CCI a tet beClarritienec) Ou cceryc ayeus UddIN SNAI}SOV S Ipooy O
We) 6 JONG) A) 8.86) 6.10) 18 (0 <4 WS. eie) Weise, eB Ye) ee) (Maan ‘ (ayeus SSBID)) SI[VUIOA sajedory
erie @tairela),wicereita (xe alte, wie) je%ie\ (a: a) sligiten's: a) innieie,faraiis (ayeus dAvYOJ) siyeqidi990 BIOUOG
pe ee Lamerinic) SS ate cemnenes sv'S 18 8496 0,40) 08 (ayeus MOqUI¥Y{) snuuesdo1y} Ara TOISeGCY
in aMe Meine (elle re) hirente yale pissin My Man ae) /entanthitenel tae (ayeus P21] [2q-Po2y) vinoseqe BIouRIe yy
SUueNeRevenarenvicic aren eres Makes: sas (ayeus Suljva-dnys) snjernqou snyjeudoleiag

panuyuoy—SALNAdUuas

SHTILdae

ArtAMNABH ARH RA
+ + a
-_

PAE A Be Aes BN

SNAWIOddS

iO WaHWON

[341]

WILD ANIMALS

Se eee ee ee ee Nee re ee ee a eT ee eee eee

co moO O

SHLNOW

TET ste res eal + heave denel sco tu (neve piiel(elerleve a) Si) eilotelane lene (voq 9013 ueqns) Josindue sazesoidy
a ie Rae a IDE ee COC Bo Ec ae (epuooeuy) snulinut so}00uNy
eee ees | 2s anneal as ife ves wrivizsyierioNoitos'o Molla fovouvh(siva ey ex'eMeneoN eR aN omwiiexeis (eoq soradurq) Jozyesodurt
COL licks ce teiede= ere eoliale (ellevrotie Tavelioneyie Ne lerelloueusloneRemays (4039113su09 vog) J0}91.1}SU0d 410}911]Su07
Sie) (el 6 J@ 10)\a) "ee; Au @Ne (a0 ® (6 (ole (6 (0) © (elle else: (be, 6) cree e (6.8 Jo nkelia.is 0, alwie (voq abil $, yoo ) II 009
So) ls (W301 ee wie (eke e.e \evle).0) ea) a) (6 6) '6 © eiliélielie we) «iv ¢ eo lphe-< ip. 6 .6i'sl\s) ele! ala (voq da1]) erate vog
Nei eye te (ene telialelienaiaiye!(aharerebsl's! felslatieleuniieies'a’ ok (ayeus JoueM SBX9]) euixoid
Bye oliaiwie.e:leyim {eerie elielvatiolie, e, (el aqieire tere) e118) elle.telie) 6) sits) fetes (ayeus 133185) SITe3418 stydouwey J,
Widen} is) ahene>i0's 48X66) 10718 1f@ Keliei\s1 16). @ (el,¥ ‘ofzalis|jalel el fel «) (el ik relists (ayeus uzenc)) 23e331AWI9}das
: ey 01,0 1"euts,ehienibvieile Ke! (ere; (e1le(ei\eiie:e);e: a) iq, ©. (al ishielipine ue (ey eliel ie a iaira)cel ayrayd (qoptd 133%) ejoridsixey
a) (S\caVisiiepiolie ieielqel els) ‘ehjs\.6 felielie)is\ e616 1e=)'n) Sieiiolisite: ni slat sys) eile Weveuniats (oyxeus Ja}e uo adis X1I}e

SrwAwhtajie Oalie(\ols-eWetle! (ve) e40l(el\er vend coieuiey sueia eesaunt eile (oyeus [e109 1938 \\) aes acon
Sone ate -Lshei6) labie, Gee (et ieiie) selrele.{= ney.eh ore ranean es chats (oyeus pepeeg) sndojiziesseu
waeRadvin che otstatalo\7e ele. a\sidelinfie) susie, stditelcets CeyiemelaelininseWoliean ake ehetiokewerellens sn}Essojsiq sniqowAIq
ReeVoubVoasie is Talend Acwars:cwalte oils iin dais, ito; s Vei-s vetetieis nels Gupeapetal eRatian ante tebarie| ces isitey alan,s snjzeyjnd sajojids
Siisiga lai sine To eVialee sells wele)yeijece) ese) wilewel'e. «i «-o\'eira.ohe (axeus raydon) adnoo STeIO9 uoysiewAIq
Swi ental a ewiamente tobe oiiefe)ieccens reVertel-er.sv'elisis relieve) iaxeneliciietenaireieleneceiate (oyeus uJO7)) 2}e1]n3
Rega eulPSLin) wi cepiptia iu Wey 9 /e:16)yey e601 e Sate) ca) waive) welnwicte AM less eae open wana ae RGU (ayeus xo euid NA
faye Wiay- to's ores e) ley \us (efile) @) 106): by) ,6e-te>s6) (e fei Side's: ele: el ep ns utege caste (oyeus uay4o1y7)) ek
eign ge Sid occas rinks wiles ke 1S (ayeus Yor[q yorid uJay}NoS) stuyuos BJI[OSgO
SMONM in) otesw faye lel ene ld tateieiatu ces w ieee. (a. lea ne ives ptetocene (ayeus 4oryq 301g) BJaTOSqo oydeyq
Mc gs i: Oia ec (ayeus uae13 suiddipiyg) wnyeydeo{xo ewosokuoy

. eLaBeleiatuialiehpiaveikoNsMelieialolle\leliahedeheiiairecenc¥sMaxeliclis: cvs eviens (axeus 1™q) thes stydonjig

panutju0j—SAILNAduas

m SO XO

™~e MM

Savas SHTLLdaa

duoordd ALIAFONOT

STAM AMO MH HRY
_

™~

SNAWIOddS

iO YdaqNON

1 342 |

APPENDIX I

ONO CAS Sal ty

Mmor At +

SHLNOW
duoord ALIAFONOT

SUVvaa

cMarisrgirotia tame Mei uWatele:.n ia eneter sane stich ejaeser eel ewe) enele (88103103 peieinsuy) vyeindue

Sah inh ela] tehelieizaksey iaixren(elrviie ie: ojNe (a, Tolven/ete) ie: len.d) lolol wn) siete aia Miam site oMatipi sivai es oieuaue tabisto: ei eliodeber ele ds opn3sa
Wiehioh ehinicohislichie maw alkelsivek smal eho Membibell pkeinewehcntatesciehicinebio nar se ere (ep4n3 peoysesso7) 230189 eae
OS etl ean Cacti wOLCUD CaDmDsCL OTA On O70 Dm (as103103 JOqVM yoryq) suvdIISIU soIsn]ag
BIOSIS. ONC UE (ASIOJIOJ Ja}VM ULILIJY UOWWOD) vvITvd esNpoWOlag
Stateleltelcherare ox eravie anetene ers rallald lehevisiaiecers ohenetcne (272.403 uozewy) esuvdxo stwaud0pog
ele cy{ofehay ef eriayintes ater elte: op suesier 6: eusl stelle, ieniajas Roman eataicaementa (ep4n3 B]VUIE}LIA)) vequiy sdpoyy
mare: (s) (6) 'o fo: ehlolxe\coyie/iejaiio eve) cjielet one) (s) elim sifeilieiielc¥e (apan3 peyoeu-su0'T) ST][OOISUOT euIpopeyy
HRS Coo 1 OSS BCG iar (a]21n} ~peydeu-Suoy] uvsowy y3nog) evuvAoryoos sdoudryg
EOC, On Oi) ORGHOMONG IO CEObO CCNCETELECHDAALCeOtG. o.osDte. napan (ap4n3 youq-espry) sdasiuryd sAuiaze[g
O} Ste| (alahta} ei tele (vite elimiteine) (eevee veielte ts (aie le! Neils: lsjturatieiielcs (uides193 3oeq-J9Y43¥2T) XOI9J epAwy

VLIVNIGOLSAIL

iS avtelyele| (ee) (ofiee! 0} /e) 0/16) 6) ey 0ie\ tele) “siie! vie) a0 10l.d fb) [s) elie aes errerenanrece! (viejeny) snjv}ound uopousyds

VITVHdAOOHONAHY

aariaptal fekei’sulpiiea6 «(ie jte, aL el n\'e s/t ielm (eG) Bileje-e +¥: bc DT Di eice! aiverinl coastal ternee av bene seers se ncoedg

COON, Ob OL Onn ORC hs TO at OHNO CE POR CnC ech CONGR Chemc mai er) cack OF (uoy34 uvdIIJV) oeqas
Rishdttadeijehinilel(e) vl’ sir s)| ejist \alte,fa'p! ‘wituilul econ) e) Tek sleek isei(sivise) ene coe (uoy3Ad puoureiq) sajoyids

Bie talialketeyiescale'jajfeMete) wilsitei. e\calis’(e\)bi fe}7e\6/eiai=tel,0) iss alle Melalg; prenere (uoyyAd uvipuy) sninjour

piel Maid) 4),@2 aiin}cané)" el is\ini (o)48)\.5) vier “a e)e.(¢e-0)-0) alee). irs) sa ete Rs 2oL (uoy3Ad [edoyy) sn3evpnojed uoyydg
fel fa. wrenta Tai” selena eae phate: ie) eieie see! elie e.g Const eaters (ayeus OA]2 A) s11youao

si syle) et sleishiolce) ipl vier etveuel.e,si4ie; er@)ie\le\ lel se "++ (voq 39.13 MO]? X) sn}eusJoUl saqesoidy

Panuijuoy)—SALNAdudas

SHTILdae

i: aoe ie: se se ae

TOTNO HAT

SNAWIOddS

| iO UFdWnNn

[ 343 ]

WILD ANIMALS

dis

* *

wm
Awa t-FH MMH FMM
* * *

Ferrer Yo TE NNN TSO
2)
(oe)
*

SHLNOW SUVaA

auoodad ALIAFONOT

CONC CMEC Yi CIC HCCI EMC Tit Vax Ya Ye Sart Jeet * (493009 uvdIOWYy [eq3u27) v]eUIO sAwiopnesg
Ce er eer ee Te) Silen@ elie) ©: e~'e) 80) een take ‘(uides39} ooys00"T) Wapsueds epAua0any

sictwis: elle prejienerisiie se CXolewd ooray ras shia e eho ent altat (ay2.103 S2A99y]) MIS9AI0I sAurwajo0ax)
Jveleb 6 ¢.< Sn hain! SERS eee NTOT snoido’q) eso1doy

Since: af atreiauie’ aes, (ere cada mpc WAGae Late ceteris, 6 sl (eure ‘(2403 poo) e3d[nosut shui)
Gkemo) sels) ariefia allele xerateihel s.07s- 10 i (ei (elisitsiens . (uides193 s Surpuryg) mSurpuryq

Cs OE Se eS ee (ap4n3 puod uvadoinq) siepnoiqio sAuy
eile) io) bite is leuahe! elie 6) 6710 a) sss aire. 416 (h-alinh hne ley a. 6) ie o- * (apjan3 xog) BUT[OIS suadesio J,
rrssseseeessseeesess (yidpiiaz uv ILIOWIY YINOS) elIvpNyouNnd evIIODINy

Dac CCN Ar) Clie|iesie@ aie) @)d\-006) 6) ene (e'\s) » 60) (AS10310} pesury $ 1]°q) euelyyeq sAXIUI‘)
Be sa) 0) 8) (a\cel 1e, pl 8 -o\el_@.(8\,8: 1e\te) (w)6. ine) \e) wees) 6) (oP w "****(Q810}I0 J) snjvjoole sndowoyy
spe Bur ceesioren ences te {enn saydos uvorxey]) arpuryieq

BO @) 0 (6/(6)\0)) -8.16).6, 6 80,0, ex6 Ore ensn ere «6, euete * (98103103 31989(q) | IIZISSeSE

e)|Bi.e|.0: <ei(h)ia) 6 (se) '6).6) a8) 6.8.6.1) sa) (6/5) of 6 19. (AS10103 raydoy) snuraydAyod snsoydor)
Siip).«),62.6) 6) 6)\6) 6.0166 (6. 6s ecee ee) 6 6 (8 (88103103 puryjsy apeWeqly) BUIOIA
Preeseseeecssesesss*(98103I0} PURIST B]qQesvJapuz) t1a3I10d

sikeselienale. a <a pusiellena) srelarstnsee) 'e-siene se enane o- (AS10}103 psedoaq) sijepsed

Ge ane a Sa eee *snojouin N = (ESIE MOS PUels peren*” JOS) WeTus0y
perio be ae racVAinn Corn soem come verses ss Tppayssoy
Sianiwy 6)-b16:-8 8) e)\e) eG) (e104) offensive uae) .6)4)/6) (ein ene (ASI03103 UBdIIJY) TUUeWIOY
61,8) Bie pl eis eels) a esi elise erie . (98103103 purysy urounq) wniddryda
©) 0 (@>e ,@ #16) 6 (a6 8) 6 6) &)\6. 6) «she x8 (9SI0}103 uvLIsWYy yqnos) ee[NI}Uep
ave leis 6) 8)\e)e) eave aneel.s, 6-6) ele) s) (els ens is ° (28103103 uvriuissAqy) eI vIvITVD opn3sa y,

panu1ju0)—VLVNICGOLSaL

SHTILdaa

Mme AW MH HR MHRA MA AHHH OY

- O MMA
Lol

SNAUWIOddS

iO Ydd#WnNn

[ 344 |

APPENDIX I

~H
*%

HOO MOTO MADHO WA

SHLNOW

~t\o

a a a

~FtOFMO MM

SUVGA

qduoogdd ALIAFONOT

Soe eres Trrsessesssss (aqposoia pasou-SuoTq) snjovsydeze9 snjfposoiz
OnOION CECE CHORCU nO ORCI a onc acs riers ice CCC 1 ONC Dering (s03e51T Vy) stsuotddississtu Joyesiyy
one fers cens ails ia 'e\(ers 8. (e) elieja\ eis (oftanaass ove, e\enac use (uvwvo peyovqoedc) sdosayos uvullesy

VITIGOOOUS

gt Spe as a Sees Si CE (ajj4nj Sutddeus s,uouSissoyy) tuouSsissos

winahe) bin sal)e)e-piny 5) wane: bee. ene, wise, 98s = aie a =, Shee w ne (ap31n3 Sutddeuc) vunuadsas

a) = relnalis) wivap lee. ie) tsiie) elileie)ie lu e)ha\olis/:piiae»)\s: ele! ts! felce (ap4n3 sutddeus ePlOop.q) B]O39SO erpApayy
SV eel 6 aslo wld oe ve Wce im spe) @ 90-0) le: eile. teisieumyscene (2p4n3 S MUTA) TIME UL sAwi}eulIaq
ai ol ante ails (ulroWe sia ieWs! elisiaiss, swe )/exe\a (2p4n3 ysnur viuva[Asuuag) wniqniqns

Selene is: vtee Biss «ese a wisiele eo «6 0 a0 *(a7341n3 ysnur UBIIX9TA) asuaTiouos

pee pe See ea (ap4nq pnur uvstewY Yy3NOg) seprordiods uoUJa}soUry
Spe) Ce) 6. 6F0) © s)l8 (P (6 v6) 6)m e100). 0) © (0 > S01 6) (waite) wre)'e ere . (apan3 ysnyq) peta etree ieee
Cy) CY a fee We Cet Cg Jar iC) PE HERE a Fake ae De tS pequteg) BOI

Sitwell felleltah s)ei'e! la toiteieleice ove Lele. a atella gsi s iss 0! s0ve\t0 (ayan3 pajuied U19}S2 (A) T1]2q sAuasAIy7)
piss seleceun ells) ee caiwl seis) -0.6.6) o).a:\eisimiie e's) s\ sus/euens (273.13 udyxo1y)) BldIvpNdizeI sAyaysosIq
Ssheiiej (aie iepbilelisrisnetele (els: 18) oi6ie viterelo 676 eee i4.\9\ 6/56/9608) e918 ais (123007)) eqdiios sAwopnesg

poenuijuoj—VIVNIGOLSAL

SHWILLdo a

ARHWOO FO HA MH Fe

SNAWIOddS

i0 YAH#WANn

[345]

WILD ANIMALS

ee ee ee SS ee

v Dgah De Pee hard tee dee es (sory pamr[o-yjoous uvdlyy 3seq) 1aynw sndousy gl
VunNV
+ OMEN oe oa Se eh een ‘ (JopuvUE[es JULIC)) snUIXE snYydeIIEqQoTeSa~Wy $
VLVdnvo
SHLNOW SUVaA SNVIGPIHd NV SNAWIOddS
auooau ALIAFONOT 10 UdaWAN

a ee

[ 346 |

APPENDIX II

LIST OF ANIMALS BORN IN THE NATIONAL
ZOOLOGICAL PARK

MARSUPIALIA

3. Trichosurus fuliginosus (Dusky phalanger).
3 vulpecula (Australian opposum).
3. Macropus bicolor (Black-tailed wallaby).

fe) billardieri (Rufous-bellied wallaby).

7 giganteus (Gray kangaroo).
13 robustus (Wallaroo)!.
25 rufus (Red kangaroo)?.

17 Petrogale penicillata (Brush-tailed rock wallaby).
10 Aepyprymnus rufescens (Rufous rat kangaroo).
16 Didelphis virginiana (Opossum).

CARNIVORA

Thalarctos maritimus (Polar bear).
Euarctos americanus (American black bear).
Ursus arctos (European brown bear).
gyas x dalli (Hybrid Alaskan bear).
horribilis (Grizzly bear).
kidderi x arctos (Hybrid brown bear).
Nasua narica (Gray coati-mundi).
rufa (Red coati-mundi).
Procyon lotor (Racoon).
Mephitis nigra (Skunk).
Mustela vison (Mink).
Lutra canadensis (American otter).
canadensis vaga (Florida otter).
Canis dingo (Dingo).
familiaris (Eskimo dog).
II familiaris (Russian wolf-hound).
4 familiaris (Various breeds).
4 frustror (Woodhouse’s coyote).

iS)

m GO
PP OR FW OW HOWNP

RO
Ww Ab

1 Bred Oct. 27, 1916; motion in pouch first seen Dec. 13; head of young first seen
March 27, 1917.

2 Bred Oct. 19, 1916; motion in pouch first seen Dec. 8; head of young first seen
March 19, 1917.

[ 347 |

WrHWWH DAN

WILD ANIMALS

Canis latrans (Coyote or prairie wolf).
nubilus (Gray wolf).
rufus (Texan wolf).
Vulpes fulva (Red fox).
velox (Swift or kit fox).
Alopex lagopus (Arctic fox).
Genetta dongolana neumanni (Neumann’s genet).
Felis hippolestes (Mountain lion). Period of gestation, 13 weeks.
leo (Lion). Period of gestation, 16 weeks.
pardus suahelicus (East African leopard). Period of gesta-
tion, 13 weeks.
tigris (Bengal tiger). Period of gestation, 16 weeks.
tigris longipilis (Siberian tiger).
Lynx rufus texensis (Spotted lynx).

PRIMATES

Cebus capucinus (White-throated capuchin).
capucinus x fatuellus (Hybrid capuchin).
Cercopithecus mona (Mona monkey). Period of gestation,
7 months.
Macacus fuscatus (Japanese monkey).
irus (Common macaque).
mordax (Javan macaque).
nemestrina (Pig-tailed monkey).
rhesus (Rhesus monkey). Period of gestation, 7 months.

RODENTIA

Cynomys ludovicianus (Prairie dog).
Castor canadensis (American beaver).
Onychomys leucogaster melanophrys (Grasshopper mouse).
Myocastor coypus (Coypu).
Capromys pilorides (Hutia-conga).
Hystrix cristata (European porcupine).
Erethizon dorsatum (Canada porcupine).
Lagostomus trichodactylus (Viscacha).
Dasyprocta acouchy (Olive agouti).

aguti (Common agouti).

cristata (Crested agouti).

rubrata (Trinidad agouti).

sp. (Agouti).
Cuniculus paca (Paca).
Cavia aperia (Guinea pig). Numerous.

tschudii pallidior (Peruvian guinea pig).

[ 348 |

113

APPENDIX Il

Dolichotis patagonica (Patagonian cavy). Period of gestation,
58 days.
LAGOMORPHA

Oryctolagus cuniculus (Rabbit) (in 1928).

PERISSODACTYLA

Tapirus terrestris (Brazilian tapir). Period of gestation, 13 months.
Equus grevyi « asinus (Zebra-ass hybrid).

ARTIODACTYLA

Pecari angulatus (Collared peccary).
Phacochoerus aethiopicus (Wart hog).
Hippopotamus amphibius (Hippopotamus). Period of gestation,
237 days.
Lama glama (Llama). Period of gestation, 11 months.
huanacus (Guanaco).
pacos (Alpaca).
Camelus bactrianus (Bactrian camel).
dromedarius (Dromedary). Period of gestation, 409
days.
Rusa unicolor (Sambar deer).
Rucervus duvaucelii (Barasingha deer).
Axis axis (Axis deer).
Sika nippon (Japanese deer).
Cervus canadensis (American elk).
elaphus (Red deer).
hanglu (Kashmir deer).
xanthopygus (Bedford deer).
Dama dama (Fallow deer).
Hyelaphus porcinus (Hog deer).
Rangifer tarandus (Reindeer).
Odocoileus columbianus (Columbian black-tailed deer).
hemionus (Mule deer).
virginianus (Virginia deer).
sp. (Cuban deer).
Antilocapra americana (Prong-horned antelope).
Antilope cervicapra (Indian antelope).
Gazella arabica (Arabian gazelle).
Taurotragus oryx livingstonii (Livingstone’s eland).
Tragelaphus gratus (Congo harnessed antelope).
Boselaphus tragocamelus (Nilgai).
Rupicapra rupicapra (Chamois).

Oreamnos americanus (Mountain goat).

[349 ]

WILD ANIMALS

Capra falconeri ¥ hircus (Hybrid goat).

ibex (Alpine ibex).

Hemitragus jemlahicus (Tahr).

Ammotragus lervia (Barbary sheep).

Ovis aries tragelaphus (Barbados sheep).
canadensis (Rocky Mountain sheep).
europaeus (Mouflon).

Bubalus bubalus (Indian buffalo).

Poephagus grunniens (Yak).

Bison bison (American bison).

Bos indicus (Zebu).
XENARTHRA

Euphractus villosus (Hairy armadillo).

BIRDS

CICONIIFORMES

Pelecanus erythrorhynchos (American white pelican).
Phalacrocorax auritus floridanus (Florida cormorant).

Ardea herodias x occidentalis (Hybrid heron).

Casmerodius egretta (American egret).

Nycticorax nycticorax naevius (Black-crowned night heron).
Threskiornis aethiopicus (Sacred ibis).

Guara alba (White ibis).

ANSERIFORMES

Cygnus olor (Mute swan).
Aix sponsa (Wood duck).
Chen caerulescens (Blue goose).
hyperboreus nivalis (Greater snow goose).
Branta canadensis canadensis (Canada goose).
canadensis occidentalis (White-cheeked goose).
Anas domestica (Pekin duck).
platyrhynchos (Mallard duck).
rubripes (Black duck).
Eunetta falcata x Chaulelasmus streperus (Falcated teal-gadwall,
hybrid).
Dafila acuta (Pintail duck).
Metopiana peposaca (Rosy-billed pochard).

GALLIFORMES

Gennaeus nycthemerus (Silver pheasant).
Phasianus torquatus (Ring-necked pheasant).

[350]

APPENDIX II

Chrysolophus pictus (Golden pheasant).
Gallus bankiva (Jungle fowl).

Pavo cristatus (Pea fowl).

Meleagris gallopavo silvestris (Wild turkey).
Colinus virginianus (Bob-white).

GRUIFORMES

Grus mexicanus (Sand-hill crane).
Anthropoides virgo (Demoiselle crane).
Fulica americana (American coot).

CHARADRIIFORMES

Larus novaehollandiae (Silver gull).

argentatus smithsonianus (Herring gull).
Columba palumbus (Wood pigeon).
Streptopelia risoria (Ringed turtledove).

PSITTACIFORMES

Melopsittacus undulatus (Warbling grass paroquet).

PASSERIFORMES

Munia oryzivora (Java sparrow).
Serinus canarius (Common canary).

Sicalis flavecla (Saffron finch).

REPTILES

SERPENTES

Crotalus adamanteus (Diamond rattlesnake).
confluentus (Prairie rattlesnake).
Agkistrodon mokasen (Copperhead).
piscivorus (Water moccasin).
Pituophis sayi (Bull snake).
Constrictor constrictor (Boa constrictor).
Epicrates inornatus (Yellow tree boa).

[357]

INDEX

Aard-wolf, 113
Abu Markub, shoebill, 239
Afghan camel, 155

Andean condor, 242, 278

Angora goat, 277

Anhinga, 237

Animals, at sea with, 20, 51, 59,

African black rhinoceros, 202, 209 128, 178

buffalo, 170

elephant, 127, 131, 141

hornbill, 283

leopard tortoise, 273

rhinoceros, 207

rock python, 266

weaver, 247
Agassiz’ tortoise, 273
Agile gibbon, 36
Alaska Game Commission, 226
Alaskan brown bear, 99

Kodiak bear, 98

wolverine, 226
Alligator lizard, 264
Alligators, 271, 272
Alpaca, 156
Alpine ibex, 200
Amazon parrot, 254

turtle, 15, 60, 274
American alligator, 271

antelope, 188

bald eagle, 241

bison, North, 163

chameleon, 264

crocodile, 272

elk, 184

flamingo, 237

moose, 186

rhea, 233

toucan, 257

white pelican, 235, 236

wild turkey, 244
Anaconda, 88, 267

Anteater, spiny, 231
Antelopes, 18, 90, 188-198
Anubis baboon, 50
Aoudad, 198
Apes, 21-38
Appropriation mynah, 259
Apteryx, 234
Arabian camel, 155
Araucanian fowl, 247
Arctic musk ox, 169
Argus pheasant, 246
Arizona mountain sheep, 199
Aspergillosis, 234
Australian black swan, 238

crane, 249

crow, 258

grass paroquet, 243

silver gull, 250

skink, 265

turtle, 274
Axis deer, 183, 184

“Babe,” hippopotamus, 150
Baboons, 39, 49-51, 110, 128
Bactrian camel, 153-155
Badger, honey, 227
Bahama pintail, 238
Baird’s tapir, 228
Baker, A. B., 9, 94, 103, 104, II0,
117, 123, 126, 195
Frank, 6, 78, 126
Bald eagle, American, 241

[353]

INDEX

Banded mongoose, 222
Barasingha, 183
Barbados sheep, 198
Barbary ape, 47-49
sheep, 198
Barn owl, 258
Barnum and Bailey Circus, 74, 84,
113, 132, 139;/180
Barred owl, 243
“Barrigudo,” woolly monkey, 55
Basilisk lizard, 266
Bats, 230
Bearded saki, 57
Bears, 94-106, 278, 279
Beavers, 117-121, 189
Bee-eater, 256
Bengal tiger, 78, 79
Bighorn, 199
“Big Tom,” elephant, 144
“Bill Barlow,” pig, 162
“Bill,” white-handed gibbon, 25
“Billy,” tapir, 10, 13
Bird of Paradise, 258
Birds, 55, 232-260, 282, 283
Births, 219, 276, 347-351
Bison, 163-169, 172-175
Black bear, 98, 99, 102
-bellied tree duck, 238
buck, g1, 189
Blackburne, W. H., 4, 5, 20, 30,
45, 66, 68, 74, 78, 80, 84, 89,
92; IGA. ECT; Li 8, ) P20, 127,
EQ: 70, Loo, Loy, 219.239,
Zao, Mat O71, 276
Black cockatoo, great, 253
-crowned night heron, 237
lemur, 61
leopard, 86
-necked spitting cobra, 269
rhinoceros, African, 202, 209
snake, 270
spider monkey, 52
squirrel, 228
swan, Australian, 238

Blowing viper, 270
Blue bear, 99, 103

foxes, and cat, 93

goose, 240

-tongued lizard, 265
Blunt-tailed parrot, 255
Boar, European wild, 161
Boas, 266, 267, 275
Boatbill, South American, 237
“Bob,” white-handed gibbon, 25
Bonnet monkey, 66
Boomslang, 270
Bostock Trained Animal Show,

242

Box turtles, 272, 273
Brazilian brocket, 184

Otter, 117
Brindled gnu, 194
Brocket, Brazilian, 184
Brown bear, 99

hyena, 109

woolly monkey, 53
“Buffalo Bill,” see Cody, W. F.
Buffaloes, 163-172
Bulbul, 258
Burchell’s zebra, 214
Bush dog, 13, 221

pig, 72, 158, 161
Bushmaster, 269
“Buster,” bear, 104

hippopotamus, 148

Cage paralysis, 50, 56
Caique, flower-headed, 12, 13
Calcarated tortoise, 272
California condor, 242

sea lion, 122

valley quail, 246
Camels, 128, 153-156
Canadian Government, 175, 199,

200

[354]

INDEX

Capturing animals, 18, 22, 43, 52,
71, 72, 81, 85, 100, III, 118,
137, 147, 158, 173, 176, 190,
195, 207, 214, 223

Capuchin monkey, 15, 55

pale, 58
white-throated, 56

Caracal, 279

Cardinal, 259

Caribou, Newfoundland, 186

Carolina paroquet, 254

Cassowary, 234, 278

Cats, 68-93, 279

Cattle, wild, 163-175

Cayman, spectacled, 272

Cebus monkey, 58

ale, 60

“Chac,” Chacma baboon, 110

Chachalaca, 243

Chacma baboon, 39, 110

Chameleons, 264, 265

Chamois, 198

Chapman’s zebra, 214

Cheetah, 9, 89, 128

Chicken snake, 270

Chimpanzee, 21, 29-33

Chrysler Expedition, 16, 41

Chrysler, Walter P., 16

Cinereous vulture, 241

Cinnamon bear, 101

Civets, 224, 225

Clouded leopard, 89

Cobra, 269

Cockatoos, 5, 252, 253

Cody, W. F., 164, 184

Collared lizard, 264

Colobus monkey, 41, 42

Condors, 242, 278

Coolidge, President, 68, 149

Copperhead, 268, 276

Coyotes, 107

Crab-eating mongoose, 223

Cranes, 238, 249

Crested European ruff, 238

Crested guan, 244

mynah, 259
Crocodile, American, 272

and pigeon, 146
Crowned crane, East African, 238
Crows, 258
Cuban tree boa, 267
Cunningham’s skink, 265
Curassow, I, 10, 15, 243, 244

Dasyure, 217

Dealers, animal, 8

Deer, 60, 183-201

Desert tortoise, 273

Diamond rattlesnake, 267, 276

Diana monkey, 43, 278

Diseases, 7, 37, 44 50, 56, 78, 86,
87, 92, 113, 129, 135, 1725
199, 200, 218, 224, 234, 245

Dogs and deer, 187

“Dot,” giraffe, 179

Douroucouli, 58, 102

Doves, 250

Dromedary, 155

Duckbill platypus, 231

Ducks, 238

“Dunk,” elephant, 126

E
Eagles, 241-243
Earl’s weka, 248
East African bush pig, 161
chameleon, 265
Civet, 224
crowned crane, 238
eland, 197
hedgehog, 230
hornbill, 283
leopard, 85
spotted hyena, 109
white-tailed mongoose, 222
East Indian gallinule, 238
hornbill, 283
Echidna, 231

[355]

INDEX

Egyptian cat, 92
cobra, 269
flamingo, 238
Eland, 197
Elephants, 4, 75, 91, 126-145,
ZIT 2719
Elephant seal, 123, 124, 279
shrew, 229
Elk, 183-185
“Emma,” olive baboon, 50
Emperor goose, 240
Emu, 234
English pheasant, 246
Escaped animals, 60, 82, 100, 108,
TIO, 120, 148, 160, 160.187,
1975\210, 223
European bison, 172
crested ruff, 238
fallow deer, 184
flamingo, 238
pond turtle, 275
white pelican, 235, 236
wild boar, 161
wolverine, 227
Expedition, Mulford Biological, 9
Smithsonian-Chrysler, 16, 41
Smithsonian-Roosevelt, 8
Eyra cat, 88
Eyton’s tree duck, 238

Fallow deer, European, 184
False chameleon, 264
Fer-de-lance, 269
Finch, 42, 258
Flamingo, 237, 238
Flat-headed cat, 88
Flicker, 258
Flight cage, 238
Flightless rail, 248
Florida diamond rattlesnake, 267
moccasin, 276
otter, 115
snapping turtle, 273

Flower-headed caique, 12, 13

Flying fox, 230

Food of animals, 61, 64, 90, 113,
I21, 1245 129,’ 180;'186;\ 193,
19752345 239, 0243; (252 eoes
263, 268, 272, 274, 277-283

Forepaugh Circus, Adam, 4, 6, 78,
126, 202

Foxes, 93, 107, 230

Fruit bat, 230

Pigeon, 42, 251

G
Galago, 61-65
Galapagos tortoise, 272
Gallinule, East Indian, 238
Gannet, 237
Gazelle, 9, 128
Geese, 240, 241
““George,” Barbary ape, 47
Gerrhonotus lizard, 264
Gibbon, 21, 36, 53
Gila monster, 262, 263
woodpecker, 258
Giraffes, 19, 176, 182
Glacier bear, 99, 103
Glutton, 227
Gnu, 18, 189, 194
Goats, 156, 200, 210, 277
Goiter, 113
“‘Gold-dust,” elephant, 126
Golden eagle, 241
Gopher tortoise, 273
Gorillas, 21-29
Grant’s crested guinea fowl, 244
Grass paroquets, 243
Gray squirrel, 227
wolf, 108
Great black cockatoo, 253
horned owl, 243, 257
white cockatoo, 253
Grebe, pied-billed, 235
Green fruit pigeon, 42
pigeon, 250
Grevy’s zebra, 213

[ 356 ]

INDEX

Grizzly bear, 94
Grouse, 246
Grunting ox, 174
Guan, 243, 244
Guanaco, 156
Guenons, 43, 44
Guinea @ /a Maryland, 245
fowl, 238, 244, 245
pigs, 6
Gulls, 250
“Guy Fawkes,” hippopotamus,
148
H
Hagenbeck’s mangabey, 44
Hanging lory, 256
“Hans,” elephant, 141
Hanuman langur, 41
Harbor seal, 123
Harpy eagle, 243
Hawaiian goose, 241
Hawk, 243
Hawk parrot, 254
Hedgehogs, 229, 230
Heron, 237
“Hi-Boy,” giraffe, 179
Hill-tits, Japanese, 258
Hippopotamus, 146-152, 279
“Hitam,” elephant, 135, 136
Honey badger, 227
Hoolock, 37
Hornbill, 256, 283
Horned owl, great, 243, 257
toad, 263
Horses, 74, 211-216
Howling monkey, 41, 52
Humboldt’s parrot, 255
penguin, 234
woolly monkey, 54
“Husky,” gnu, 194
Hyacinthine macaw, 254
Hyenas, 66, 109-113

I
Ibexes, 200, 201
Ibises, 237, 238

Iguanas, 265
Impallas, 19, 71, 195-197
Inca dove, 250
Indian civet, 225
crane, 249
elephant, 126, 136
hog deer, 184
macaque, 46
python, 267
rhinoceros, 205
swamp deer, 183
white crane, 249
Indians, 1, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, $2, 55,
58, 102-104, 164, 244, 245,
255, 274

Intestinal worms, 92

Jackal, 107
“Jack,” brown woolly monkey, 53
Jaguar, 89
Japanese deer, 183, 186

hill-tit, 258

red-faced monkey, 47
Java macaque, 47
Javanese mynah, 259

rhinoceros, 208
Javan jungle fowl, 238
Jesus lizard, 266
“Jiggs,” orang-utan, 25, 34
“Joe Mendi,” chimpanzee, 34
“José Mafiana,” black spider

monkey, 52

“Josephine,” cockatoo, 253
“Jumbina,” elephant, 129
“Jumbo,” elephant, 128, 130
Jungle fowl, 238, 247
“Juno,” zebra hybrid, 213

K
Kafir cat, 92
Kagu, 248
Kandavu pigeon, 251
Kangaroos, 6, 217-220
Kashmir deer, 185

[ 357]

INDEX

Kea, 252

“Kechil,” elephant, 4, 134
Keepers, work of, 283
Kidder’s bear, 99
Kingfisher, 256

King vulture, 241
Kinkajou, 225

Kiwi, 234

Koala, 217

Kodiak bear, 98, 101
Kongoni, 190
Koodoo, 39
Koomkies, 138
Kuri-kuri, 256

Lady Amherst’s pheasant, 246
Langley, Secretary, 2, 3, 126, 242
Langurs, 41,~42
Lapwings, 238
Laughing gull, 238
Laurel-leaf poisoning, 43, 277
Leadbeater’s cockatoo, 253
Least short-tailed shrew, 229
Lechwe, 195
Lemurs, 61-65
Leopards, 9, 39, 84-87, 93
Leopard seal, 123, 235
tortoise, 273
Leprous terrapin, 275
Lions, 5, 6, 9, 68-77, 279
Livingstone’s eland, 197
Lizards, 262-266
Llama, 156
and cat, 92
Loon, 235°
Lory, 252, 256
hanging, 256
upside-down, 256
Love bird, 255
Loveridge’s tortoise, 273

Macaques, 36, 46, 47, 49, 51, 67
Macaws, 254

Magot, 47
Magpie, 278
Malayan pigeon, 250
Malay sun bear, 102
tapir, 228
Manchurian tiger, 79
“Mandarin,” elephant, 139
Maned goose, 241
hyena, 109
Mangabeys, 44
Mange, 78
Marbled cat, 88
“Marian,” polar bear, 100
Marmoset, 14, 58
Marsupials, 217-220
Matamata, 273
“Mathias,” capuchin monkey, 55
Maw’s turtle, 274
Mealy parrot, g, 10, 255
Mexican beaded lizard, 262
comb lizard, 265
mountain sheep, 199
“Mfaume,” girafte, 178
Migratory quail, 246
“Mitzi,” cheetah, 91
Moccasin, Florida, 276
water, 269
Mohammedan, demented, 111
“‘Molly,” brown bear, 99
Moluccas cockatoo, 253
Mona guenon, 43
Mongolian pheasant, 246
Mongoose, 222, 223
Mongoose lemur, 61
Monitor, 264
Monkey-eating eagle, 243
-faced owl, 258
Monkeys, '1,'7, 10, 1215 16, 40;
67, 278, 280
Monotremes, 231
Moor macque, 51
Moose, American, 186
Morepork owl, 257
Mouflon, 200

[358]

INDEX

Mountain goat, 200
parrot, 252
zebra, 213, 214
Mouse opossum, 218
Mule deer, 187
Mulford Biological Expedition, 9
Musk ox, 169
Mynah, 42, 259

Nanday paroquet, 238
“Nanny,” camel, 154
Nasiterna paroquet, 256
National Zoological Park, first
animal in, 126
first bear in, 1, 94
bird in, 252
elephant in, 126
lion in, 1, 68
tiger in, I, 77
origin of, 2, 3
rarest animal in, 221
Native cat (Australia), 217
Nelson’s sheep, 199
Newfoundland caribou, 186
“N’Gi,” gorilla, 22-28
“Nig,” black leopard, 86
Night monkey, 58, 225
North American bison, 163
Nubian ostrich, 136, 233
Nutmeg pigeon, 238

“Obash,” hippopotamus, 148
Ocelot, 87, 88

“Old Ben,” Bengal tiger, 79
Olive baboon, 50, 55
Opossum, 6, 218
Orang-utans, 21, 33-36
Oriental pheasant, 246
Oriole, 259
Ornithorhynchus, 231
Ostriches, 136, 232, 233
Otters, 115-117, 278

Ouakari, 58

Owl monkey, 58

Owls, 243, 256-258

Ox, grunting, 174
musk, 169

P
Paca, ro
Pale capuchin monkey, 58
Cebus monkey, 60
Panama deer, 184
Paradise bird, 258
Paralysis, cage, 50, 56
“Parkie,” elephant, 141
Paroquets, 9, 11, 15, 238, 243, 254
Parrots, 1,'9; 11, 12,15, 16,725 1—
255
Partridge, 246
Passenger pigeon, 250
Passerine birds, 258
Peacock pheasant, 246
Peacocks, 246-248
Peccary, 161
“‘Peggy,”” Malay sun bear, 103
Pelicans, 235, 236, 279
Penelope, 1, 244
Penguins, 234, 235
Peritonitis, 129
Pet animals, 1, 10, 12, 40, 54, 58,
62, 88, 98, 102, 115, 161, 197,
925, 244, 255, 257, 265, 266,
wills
“Peter,” glacier or blue bear, 99
Phalanger, 217
Pheasants, 246
Philippine deer, 184
macaque, 46, 67
Phrynops geoffroyana, 274
Pied-billed grebe, 235
Pig and elephant, 130
Pigeons, 42, 146, 238, 250, 251
Pigs, 158-162
Pig-tailed macaque, 49
Pintail, Bahama, 238
Plantain eaters, 251

[359]

INDEX

Platemys planiceps, 274

Platypus, duckbill, 231

Pleuritis, 199

Plovers, South American stone,
238

Pneumonia, 37, 44, 86, 87, 199, 200

“Pocahontas,” buffalo, 165

Podocnemis expansa, 15

Polar bear, 100

Polynesian pigeon, 250

“Pops,” pig-tailed macaque, 49

Potto, 65

Prejvalski’s horse, 211

Proboscis monkey, 41, 42

Prong-horned antelope, 188

Puffin, 250

Puff mouth, 218 ;

Purple-faced monkey, 41, 42, 51

Pygmy hippopotamus, 149

Pyrenean bear, 98

Python and hippopotamus, 148

Pythons, 266, 267

Q
Quagga, 212
Quail, 243, 246

R
Racoon, 6
Rail, flightless, 248
Ratel, 227

Rattlesnakes, 267, 276
Razor-billed curassow, 244
Red and blue and yellow macaw,

254
Red deer, 183, 184
-faced monkey, Japanese, 47
-fronted lemur, 61
kangaroo, 219
ouakari, 58
Reed buck, 197
Reeves pheasant, 246
turtle, 275
Reichenow’s
fowl, 245

helmeted guinea

Reindeer, 185

Reptiles, 261-276

Rhea, 12,233

Rhesus monkey, 45, 278

Rhinoceros bird, 204
iguana, 265

Rhinoceroses, 18, 202-210

Rinderpest, 172

Ring-necked pheasant, 246
-tailed lemur, 61

Rock-hopper penguin, 235

Rock python, 266

Rocky Mountain goat, 200
sheep, 198

Roe deer, 184

Roosevelt Expedition, Smithson-

ian, 8

Roosevelt, Theodore, 8, 213, 232

Roseate cockatoo, 252

Rossignon’s snapping turtle, 273

Roup, 245

Ruff, crested European, 238

Ruffed lemur, 61

Rufous-bellied wallaby, 219

Sacred ibis, 237
Saddle-back tapir, 228
Saki, bearded, 57
Sambar, 183
San Geronimo harbor seal, 123,
“Sarah,” olive baboon, 50
Sarcoma, 135
Scarlet ibis, 238
Sclater’s cassowary, 234
Screech owl, 243
Sea elephant, 123

lion, 121122, 2395, 278,.270
Seals, 121, 123-125, 278, 279
Serval, 91, 279
Shearwater, 250
Sheep, 198-200

-killing parrot, 252
Shoebill, 239

[ 360 ]

INDEX

Short-tailed shrew, 229
-winged weka, 248
Shrews, 229
Siberian tiger, 79
Sika deer, 186, 187
Silver gull, Australian, 250
Skimmer, 250
Skinks, 265
Sloth bear, tor, 217
-eating eagle, 243
“Smiles,” rhineceros, 209
Smithsonian-Chrysler Expedition,
16, 41
exhibit, 62, 221, 260
Institution, 2, 163
-Roosevelt Expedition, 8
Snake bird, 237
Snake-necked turtle, 274
Snakes, 261-270, 276
Snapping turtle, 273
Snow leopard, 87
Snowy owl, 257
Soft-shelled tortoise, 273
“Soko,” chimpanzee, 22, 30, 49
Solenodon, 230
Solomon Island hornbill, 256
Somaliland ostrich, 232
Sooty mangabey, 44
South African ostrich, 233
South American boatbill, 237
boa constrictor, 266
bush dog, 221
otter, 117
sloth, 217
spectacled bear, 101
stone plover, 238
tapir, 228, 229
Spectacled bear, 101
cayman, 272
Sphenodon, 261
Spice finch, 42
Spider monkeys, §1, 52, 102
Spiny anteater, 231
Spitting cobra, black-necked, 269

Spoonbill, 238

Spotted hyena, 66, 109, 110

Spreading adder, 270

Squirrel monkey, 57

Squirrels, 227, 228

Stellar’s sea lion, 122

Stone plover, South American,

238

Stork, white-necked, 238

Striped hyena, 109

Stump-tailed lizard, 265

Sulphur-crested cockatoo, 5, 252

Sumatran elephant, 134
rhinoceros, 202

Sun bear, Malay, 102

Swan, Australian black, 238

Swiss Government, 198

Tahr, 198
Takia;/157
Tapirs, 10-12, 228, 278
Tarsier, 61
Tasmanian devil, 217

wolf, 217, 218
Tegu, 264
Wenrec;}230
Terrapins, 272-275
Thick-billed parrot, 254
Thylacine, 217
Tick bird, 204
Tigers, 5» 77-84, 279
Tinamou, 243
Titi monkey, 57
Toad, horned, 263
“Topsy,” elephant, 141
Tortoises, 102, 272, 273
Toucan, American, 257
Touracin, 251
Touracou, 251
Trained animals, 76, 80, 97, 113,

214

Trapping, see Capturing animals
Tree ducks, 238
Trumpeter, 15, 60, 250

[ 361 |

INDEX

Tuatara, 261

Tuberculated iguana, 265
Tuberculosis, 7, 37, 44, 224
Turkey, 244, 248

Turkey vulture, 241
Turtles, 15, 42, 60, 272-274

United States Army, 7
Biological Survey, 107,
241
Bureau of Fisheries, 7, 123
Coast Guard, 100
Department of Agriculture, 7,
198, 213
Marine Corps, 7
National Museum, 9
Navy, 7
Upside-down lory, 256

V
Vervet, 43, 51
Vicufa, 156
Virginia deer, 183, 187
Vultures, 241
Vulturine guinea fowl, 238, 244

Wallaby, rufous-bellied, 219
Walrus, 121
Wart hog, 9, 19, 72, 158, 160, 190
Water boa, 267

dragon, 265

moccasin, 269

mongoose, 223

snake, 236, 270, 276
Weaver, African, 247

birds, 17, 258, 259
Wedge-tailed eagle, 241

Wekas, 248
West African Diana monkey, 43
West Indian seal, 125
White-bearded gnu, 189, 194
-bellied hedgehog, 230
cockatoo, great, 253
-collared mangabey, 44
crane, 249
elephant, 135
-faced tree duck, 238
-handed gibbon, 37
-necked stork, 238
peacock, 248
pelican, 235
-tailed gnu, 194
mongoose, 222
-throated capuchin monkey, 56
Whooping crane, 249
Wild-cat, 60
cattle, 163-175
fowl lake, 240
Wolverine, 226, 227
Wolves, 107-109
Wombat, 217
Woodpeckers, 258
Woolly monkeys, 15, 53-55
Wou-wou, 36

a6
Yaguarundi, 88
Wakouaga

Yellow and blue macaw, 254
Yokohama fowl, 247

“Zanzi,” lemur, 62-65
Zebra dove, 250
Zebras, 213, 214
Zoos, ancient, I

[ 362 |

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